Former Scum of Metropolis
by BoneKissing
Summary: A young girl with an unusual power is taken from her violent and unruly gang life by Superman. She fights side by side with him before he sends her off to the cold, emotionless Bruce Wayne so she can learn how to fight.
1. Chapter 1

Superman pulled me off the streets when I was sixteen. If he hadn't, he's told me, I would have become one of the most threatening villains Metropolis has ever seen. I sort of doubt that, but who knows. Maybe using my powers to get people to get drugs and steal for me would have developed into me using my powers to get someone to kill people for me, or steal bigger stuff for me. Whether or not I would have become some mass villain, I'll always be grateful for him whipping me into shape like he did.

Guess I'm on the good side now, I've got a costume, a name –everything.

Belladonna.

I asked Superman if anyone would make the connection to a Ms. Bella Sweet working at the Daily Prophet with Clark Kent as her mentor to the young woman fighting side by side Superman on Metropolis streets. He said no –and I trust him. He says that people are too worried about their own lives in this city to care about anybody else's.

So Belladonna it is, translation: _a beautiful and dangerous woman_.

So I absolutely hate Lois Lane. I know Clark's in love with her, he's told me a thousand times –but I don't understand what he sees in her. Sure, she's got great legs, but so do a thousand women in Metropolis. That woman is annoying, whiney, too sarcastic for her own good and harsh. She definitely doesn't like me, adding the whipped cream to the sundae, ya know?

And yet here I stood near her, my notepad in hand as if I was actually going to do something. Being a superhero wasn't enough for Clark, I had to get a _job_ to straighten out my life too. I worked at a restaurant for the first year to separate our aliases. But this year was the first time I got to work with Clark in the same profession. I can't say I really enjoy the press –too cut-throat and dishonest for me.

No wonder Lois's is so good at it.

Clark, Lois and I were all outside waiting for the famous Bruce Wayne, who was making his annual trip to Metropolis from Gotham (in his private jet). If there was one thing I agreed on with Lois –it was how stuck up this guy sounded.

"Stuck up rich guy with no personality, that's what I've heard," she said.

But when he stepped off that plane both of our mouths dropped open. Good god was he gorgeous. Muscular, assertive, broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and perfectly combed black hair. Lois and I must have been drooling because Clark gave a cough into his fist. I composed myself.

"Quick, how's my hair?" Lois whispered, turning around to try and fix it in her little mirror that she whipped out of her purse.

If I wasn't so afraid of her I would have made a crack to that comment. But I stayed quiet, trying to keep from fixing my own hair. There's not much I can do with it anyway, I mean it's so freaking thick. My gang friends used to call me Blackberry because that's what color it is. It's so black it has a hint of purple. But it hangs to my back and it's so thick and rebellious and horrible, I couldn't do anything if I tried.

So I worked on not passing out when he suddenly came up to our group. Lois gave a little girly gasp as if she hadn't seen him coming –even though she had a damn mirror out- and dropped all her things. I would have kicked her when she bent down to get them, but you just don't mess with Superman's girl.

Bruce Wayne had not gotten that memo, or didn't care, because he helped Lois up after gathering her things. I tried not to be furious. Of course the one wearing the shorter skirt and the lower cut jacket got the hot rich guy. Of course.

And the former misfit, crazy haired, golden eyed girl got zip, nada.

Mr. Wayne turned on his flirt, complimenting Lois on her "brave" actions on the plane that had been hijacked a week earlier. Doesn't everyone know she only does that stuff because she knows the man in red and blue is going to come save her? Honestly –does anyone _really_ think she'd do those brave things if she wasn't so sure of her security blanket?

I kept these thoughts to myself. God forbid Clark hear me –good thing he can't read minds.

Nevertheless, Bruce kept complimenting her, completely ignoring Clark and I, and finally asked her out on a date. That man is _good_. Lois practically threw herself at Bruce's feet with a YES, and it had only taken him three minutes to get there.

Alright, so I was jealous. I won't lie. Sure maybe he was a bit older than me and Lois was closer to his age, and maybe she had prettier hair than me, and better clothes –well, here was another example of where it was a good thing Clark couldn't read minds. I started calling her a bunch of pretty nasty, unprintable names inside my head.

Lois had been so entranced she hadn't even had time to ask any questions for our story. The boss would have our asses for that. And to make my experience even better, as we were walking away from the site the heel of my shoe snapped. I was thankful for a few reasons 1. Bruce was already far away in his stretch limo 2. I didn't kiss the ground and 3. Clark catching me hopefully pissed Lois off a bit.

I feel nothing towards Clark, or Superman –he'd become an older brother figure in my life. So when he grabbed me by the waist to keep me from doing a face plant, the only thing I felt was strong, strong relief. And then a bit of smugness –for once Clark wasn't groveling or helping Lois out.

I really hope it pissed her off.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time I saw Bruce Wayne, it was under entirely different circumstances

I don't know how Superman does it, when there's trouble, he just _knows_. He usually doesn't get a call (or at least this time he didn't), and just waltzes into my apartment and tells me. Then I get suited up and meet him somewhere and we fly over to wherever help is needed. This time we arrived at a night club –completely cleaned out- where tables were turned over, bullet shells lay across the ground, broken window up top, and the distinct smell of violence hung in the air.

"Happening place," I murmured, but Clark held up his hand. For once I could hear exactly what he was hearing –a voice from behind the large doors to the back of the club.

We made our way in from the back, none other than the infamous Batman had a fat man pressed up against the wall, holding him by the collar.  
Batman freaked me out, I mean, anyone who _isn't_ scared of him is crazy. He was about a foot taller than me, decked in black, with musculature equivalent to Superman, and freaking bat ears. It wasn't just his looks that intimidated me, it was his demeanor.

Clark and him weren't the best of buddies –I'd heard stories about the "Dark Knight". He was supposedly a sketchy, but brilliant, character.

And what freaked me out even more? When Superman went over to stop him from pounding the guy he was interrogating, Batman reached over and _flipped_ him over into the tables. Batman freaking _floored_ Superman! I stood there with my mouth hanging open. Thinking back, I probably should have gone over to see if Clark was alright, but I was too dumbfounded to even retaliate.

Not that I would have, Jesus Christ I did not want to tussle with someone who had just thrown Superman across the room.

Thankfully, Superman got right up and sent a punch at Batman who flew into the doors. The guy he was interrogating got away, but I think that was the least of everyone's worries. I felt for a moment like I should step in and break the two up, hold my arms out and push them away from each other like two teenagers in a drunken fight at a party.

I'm sure both of them would have snapped my arms if I did that.

While Batman sat in a daze on the floor, Superman made some use of his X-ray vision and looked behind the mask. The name he blurted out almost knocked me on my feet.

"Bruce Wayne?"

"You peeked."

Batman didn't seem to be phased. I had a feeling nothing ever did phase that man. Good god, _Bruce Wayne_? Rich snob who'd completely ignored Clark and me for stupid, bitchy Lois? Of course.

"I think I deserve the right to know who the kid is," Bruce said, gesturing to me as he pulled himself to his feet.

I bristled. I was still sore about the Lois ordeal, and now he was calling me a kid? "Guess you're not as brilliant as everyone says you are," I seethed, but in my head I was really thinking: '_Maybe if you hadn't been drooling over Lois you would know who the hell I was.'_

Unfortunately Clark gave me away, I guess with the threat of the Joker high in Metropolis streets, he thought it best to form some type of trust with Bruce Wayne. An eye for an eye, right?

"Bella Sweet –the other woman who was with Lois Lane when you first arrived."

At least he used the word woman. But I gave Clark a glare anyway, which he didn't return.

Then he and Bruce argued for a bit, their voices raising and shattering the careful, wary silence outside the doors. Well, Clark's raised his. Bruce never came up above his rumbling monotone. I stood there, tempted to tap my foot impatiently. Men.

But all of a sudden, Batman pulled a plastic bag out from his utility belt. A little green chip glowed from inside, and Clark raised his arms up over his face with a groan.

"Doesn't take much does it?" Bruce taunted.

Damn, he was gorgeous but a tool. Guess I couldn't expect to have my cake and eat it too.

Clark backed up into the tables, upturning glasses and coasters and letting them bustle across the floor.

"The Joker's got twenty more pounds of this –just thought you might like to know."

I couldn't stand to see the jerk harm Clark. Kryptonite…nasty stuff for Superman. Even the tiny sliver was weakening him and causing him pain. As scared as I was of Batman, my annoyance for Bruce Wayne overtook me and I stepped cautiously forward. I'm sure he would have grabbed me and flipped me over too if I had launched at him, but I just carefully stepped to him after ripping off one of my gloves and brushed my knuckles across his cheek.

I guessed it was as close I was ever going to get romantically to Bruce Wayne.

"Show and tell's over –put it away."

Robotically, his hands moved away from Clark and he put the tiny piece back into his belt. I took my hand away and slipped my glove back on, trying not to grin like an idiot. My powers come in pretty handy when the opponent has no idea I have them. If I have contact with a person's skin, I can make them do anything I want just by saying it. It has something to do with the nerve receptors linked to the person's brain, and my brain waves and nerve receptors.

I don't know much about it, to tell you the truth. But it comes in damn handy for a lot of things. And it scares the shit out of most people.

I thought I saw Bruce's eyes widen just a bit, but his countenance remained more or less the same. Stupid emotionless stiff. "Interesting," was all he said.

And that was the end of our encounter. He was out the door before Clark even had time to brush himself off. What a complete asshole, I wondered vaguely if maybe he and Lois were good for each other. But when I got back to the apartment complex Clark and I shared I got jealous all over again.

Bruce Wayne had time to send Lois roses, a phone call from her informed, and he'd also had time to slip a tracking device on Clark's cape.

Nice guy, real nice.


	3. Chapter 3

The next afternoon Bruce Wayne appeared in my life again, this time without his cape and ears. He was dressed primly, with a dark suit that accentuated his proud, strong stance. Ugh –would it kill the guy to wear jeans once in a while? Okay, maybe I was trying to make excuses to myself. _This guy is a jerk. A gorgeous jerk, but a jerk nonetheless. STOP STARING._

I turned back to my work when I saw Lois get up from her desk and hang on the man. If Clark had not been seated so close in front of me I would have permitted myself a growl. I vaguely heard Lois tell Bruce she'd just have to go tell the boss she was leaving and then she was all his –and then her lithe form darted through the desks. She came to a stop at Clark's, barely acknowledging me.

"Keep and eye on Bruce for me," she teased, her eyes glimmering with school-girl exuberance.

I made a face at her when her (and Clark's) back was to me, and then turned back to my work as Lois escaped into the office. The faint sound of footsteps came from my left and when I peered up from the computer, I found Bruce standing by Clark's desk.

So predictable, within seconds they were talking about Lois. Sure, Clark asked about the Joker, and if Bruce had seen anything of him yet. But Clark was obviously a bit sore about Lois too, and spun the topic into her, noting how maybe it would be easier to find the Joker if Bruce wasn't splitting his work time and his time with Lois.

I put my face in my hands and then drew my palms down the length of my cheeks. "Oh boy," I said, under my breath of course. Neither of the men heard me, and they stared daggers at each other.

"I can balance my work and Lois fine," Bruce said airily, his face smug, "Besides, it seems like you've had plenty of chances."

I saw Clark stiffen, and I winced inwardly for him. That was pretty low of Bruce. So I stepped in, I had to say _something._

"Caaat fight."

Both of their eyes snapped to me, and good god, if looks could kill. I held up my hands as if to surrender, but I didn't add anything. I just went back to typing. Thankfully, my little interjection silenced them until Lois came back into the room, hooking her arm with Bruce's.

"Ready to whisk me off my feet?" she purred.

_I'm ready to knock you on your ass._ I thought bitterly, and didn't look up until I was sure they had left. I finally looked up from the computer to the back of Clark's head. I wasn't sure if he was pissed off about the cat fight comment, so I decided not to speak until spoken to.

"That guy's really starting to get on my nerves," Clark growled suddenly.

I chuckled softly and reached over to ruffle his hair a bit, "Don't worry, you'll get her back. Bruce Wayne isn't all that great."

_He just has piles of money, drool-worthy muscles and a really nice ass. No Clark...you have nothing to worry about._

Who the hell was I kidding? Sure, Clark was very handsome, and had his fair share of muscles. But Bruce was just...Bruce. He was a _lady_ magnet. Clark was just a cute geek in glasses to Lois.

But Clark looked appeased at my comment and with a sigh, turned back to his work.

**Later that night:**

No, I wasn't trying to spy on Lois and Bruce.

I know it probably sounds pretty bad, that while keeping night watch over the city streets I decided to hover out by the fancy twentieth floor restaurant Bruce Wayne had treated Lois to. That's why I haven't told Clark that I was already out there when the Joker showed up.

My story is that I was a few streets away and heard gunshots so I ran over. I'm sticking to that story.

Okay, so maybe I was just going to peek at how the couple was fairing. I was bored out of my mind and daydreaming of how horrible their date could be going, how Lois could have farted or spilled wine all over Bruce's new suit. It was fun imagining, but I got bored of that quickly and decided just to go over there, unseen, and check up on them. It was only meant to be a peek; I wasn't going on a crazy spying spree.

Besides, my peeking paid off. The Joker showed up, showing his grotesque, insane face for the first time in four nights. I was quite proud of myself for getting there first and being suited up and in costume before the big Bat (who I always thought was 'on top of everything').

The only problem? I didn't have Superman, and we had no way of communication. I told him we should get walkie-talkies but he shot that idea down. He said he'd find me if I was in trouble. I trust Clark with most things…just not that.

But boldly I flew in from the open balcony to the wide ballroom of screaming rich snobs and big muscular hit men with guns. Not a particularly smart move, I'll admit. The only bright side (which is a really sick and horrible bright side on my part) was that I got there just in time to see Lois get electrocuted with Joker's little joy buzzer.

Alright, I'm not that evil. I _was _concerned when I saw her pass out after that into the Joker's grip, I wasn't smug. Afterwards I was, but I swear I wasn't at first. It was a pretty intense moment, seeing Bruce Wayne actually vulnerable, not able to do anything, Lois unconscious, guns everywhere. And little old me ran right into the middle of it.

The Joker started laughing hysterically, "Tonight must be my lucky night, boys! Superman's main squeeze," he shook Lois's limp body in his grasp and then pointed at me, "_and_ his partner! Oh, choices, choices! Which one do I take?"

"Neither," I snarled. I thought it sounded pretty badass.

But I only had time to rip off one of my gloves before one of the big, ape guys had me in a choke hold. Thankfully he didn't bind my hands from me, and I reached one up to grab his wrist. "Let go," I groaned, and he did so immediately.

"Ah ah ah," the Joker scolded, wagging the finger of his free hand at me and giggling, "You're cheating."

A more intelligent looking goon then came up behind me before I had time to dart away and grabbed my arms from the back, twisting my hands together. It was just like those five times I'd gotten arrested, the feeling shoveled up some uncomfortable memories.

I tried to feel around for the goon's hands when I realized something –he was wearing gloves. Puzzled, I looked up toward the Joker. Bruce stood off to the side, eyes dark.

As if reading my mind, the Joker piped up, "I couldn't let Supy have all the attention! I researched you too so you wouldn't be left out."

He started cackling and the guy who had me held pretty much dragged me over toward the green haired monster. I tried kicking, I tried biting, I tried bucking my head into my captor's…he held me like I was a five year old in front of the Joker.

"Let her go!" Bruce barked, making a move to go forward. A parade of bullets popped in front of him and he hung back.

Then Joker slammed his hand across my shoulders. The electricity buzzed through my entire body, every single muscle tightened and my back arched in agony. My jaw felt welded shut, so the scream died in my chest. All that came out was a stupid grunt that churned inside my throat.

I was still awake though. My body screeched with pain, but I wasn't down yet. I permitted myself an inward smirk. Hah, I could take a hit better than Lois.

I didn't fair as well the second time around. I remember screaming, and hearing Bruce's voice, and then a bunch of gun shots. And as much as I hated the guy, the last thing I remember thinking before I passed out was I_ hope you're bullet proof, Bruce_.


	4. Chapter 4

When I woke up, there was an annoying green light cast over my face. At first I groaned at it, as if that would somehow make it go away. Slowly I became more and more aware of my surroundings: my hands were tied behind my back, I was propped up against something, and that stupid green light was everywhere. Where the hell was I?

My eyes opened reluctantly. My entire body ached and I wanted to go back to sleep more than anything else in the world. But I forced my brain back in gear and as the scene flooded to me, I became alert. The Joker stood a bit away from me, stroking a huge stone dragon that was bright green and giving off harsh light. He was babbling on about how much it was worth, how one sliver could get him a certain amount of money. The kryptonite.

I found Lois when I looked to the right. She was tied up in a chair with a gag in her mouth. I had to find some way to get her away from danger. But maybe I'd keep the gag in just for kicks.

Joker's associate "Harley-Quinn" stood next to Lois, her hand on the chair.

I was propped up against the wall with my knees under me. There was nothing holding my legs back, nothing tying me down. The only disadvantage I had was my hands being tied…which I guess is a pretty huge advantage seeing as how I don't have very good fighting skills as it is. And besides the obvious fact that all my ability is in my hands.

But I had to do something. Clark probably would have found a way out of his by now.

No one had noticed my awakening yet, so I got up as quietly as I could. Harley was too entranced with the Joker's babbling to be looking my way, the Joker was too busy babbling, and Lois had her eyes squeezed shut.

Once I was up from the floor, I balanced myself, and silently side-stepped behind Harley. Without any hesitation for fear someone would finally look over, I crouched and sent my foot into her ankles. She fell with a loud cry and I pounced up to try and undo the rope that was tied around Lois. Every second counted now.

I had to do this backwards seeing as how my hands were tied behind me, and needless to say I didn't get much of anything done on the knot before Harley was back up, her fist swinging into my jaw. When I reeled back she kicked me in the stomach. The blow knocked me off balance and the floor met my face.

The fall jarred my entire body, my teeth crashing down and slicing my bottom lip. That required stitches later. Blood trickled down my chin and the metallic tasted filled my mouth. I gagged with the flavor before attempting to get up again. I received kick in the ribs and flipped back over.

"Ladies, ladies!" the Joker laughed, "Let's try to behave ourselves, please!"

That went on for about ten minutes. And Harley's a much better fighter than I am. I'd never really been taught _fighting_. I mean, I know how to punch and kick, but I've never had any technique. Partly because Clark has never learned. He doesn't _need_ technique, he's Superman. But unfortunately I don't have super strength, and I couldn't just hurl Harley across the room and be done with it.

She completely whooped my ass, and by the time we were done I had a concussion, a bloody nose, a bloody lip, two busted ribs, sprained ankle and a badly bruised ego. Go me.

The next time I remember waking up I was swinging from the ceiling next to Lois. The five or six times my head had whacked the concrete floor while I was trying to fight Harley definitely hindered my thinking skills. I kept fading in an out of consciousness, just vaguely aware of our swinging motions in the big bundle of red cloth that we hung from.

I remember noticing Superman was in the room, but I couldn't recall how he'd gotten there. That sort of embarrassed me. Some partner I was. He had to save my ass _and_ Lois's. He walked in and she was probably awake, and I was folded over in the big ribbon thing on the ceiling, conked out.

So I can't really give a detailed story on what happened. I was unconscious for most of it. All I remember is Superman lying on the floor with the kryptonite near him, then Batman arrived, then Batman was near Superman, and then Lois was screaming. There were huge chunks I missed, the time replaced by horrible throbbing of my head.

When I finally grew conscious enough to stay away for more than three minutes, I found myself staring at the floor. Confused, I blinked a couple of times. _Everything_ hurt, and as I ran my tongue over my dry lips I tasted blood. It was dried up, but apparently still clung to my chin and upper lip. Gross.

I sucked in a breath and then winced. Mistake, mistake, mistake. Thankfully, whoever was holding me had me by the waist and not the torso. Finally it clicked why I was staring at the floor. Clark, I guessed, was holding me and I was flopped over in half.

I looked around, trying to get a feel for what was going on. Then I saw red boots up ahead.

_Wait._

I decided to try and pretend I was still unconscious. I wanted to get my bearings before I shot up and scared the shit out of everyone. And, Batman was holding me up. I mean, I didn't want to ruin the moment for myself. I wanted to prolong it as long as possible. Craftily I slid my gaze over to the left. And as expected, Lois's high heels were just a bit away from us.

I did a little victory dance inside my head._ Neeh neeh, Bruce's holding me and not you. SUCKER_.

But before my inward gloating could go on any longer, little marbles were sliding across the floor.

"He's got to be kidding," I heard Clark say, his feet moving forward a bit to go after the Joker, I presumed.

I knew something bad was coming. The Joker did not just throw marbles at his enemies and expect to get away. He was smarter than that. He was brilliant, in his own sick, sadistic way. And just as I had predicted, a few seconds later one of the marbles exploded. This caused another one to explode, which sparked another, another, another. The sound was deafening.

"Grenades!" Clark managed to yell over the explosions.

I thought it would be best if I 'awoke' then. As much satisfaction I had with Batman carrying me, I didn't want him to have to lug my ass around while we were trying to escape. I had to keep my dignity. So I pretended to shift, raising my head and getting my feet steady under me. I expected someone to say, "Oh! Belladonna, you're awake!"

No. When I finally straightened myself, Batman's arm snaked away from my waist. Then Clark freaking tackled me, clutching me close to his right side. My annoyed cry of pain was suffocated by the explosions at our backs.

And as if getting my broken ribs squeezed wasn't bad enough, guess who Batman scooped up before Clark grabbed onto him? Yeah. That's right. _Lois_. I just can't win, can I? I bust my _ass_ for that girl, because I'm a "good person", and she still gets the guy!

Clark flew us a good mile away from the exploding building. He didn't look too happy about the Joker getting away, and landed with his head turned to the angry orange flames spurting from the building. Batman let Lois go, since she was fine on her own feet, and Clark released him as well.

Well, Batman shoved Clark's arm off his shoulders. Which I thought was sort of funny, even though I'm supposed to be on Clark's side.

But I didn't feel guilty, especially because the first thing Clark said was directed to Lois. "Are you okay?"

I should have known.

He finally let his death grip go on me. I swear he cracked a few more ribs in that flying process. Right when he let go my knees buckled and I hit the asphalt. Real classy of me, don't you think? Especially in front of Bruce. And it gets better.

"Belladonna?"

I gave Clark the finger over my shoulder. And three seconds after I hit the ground I crawled forward and puked. I think it was the whole 'hanging upside down in Batman's grip for ten minutes, and then being flown at super speed away from a hot as hell building, with a mutant headache' thing that upset my stomach.

So, I puked. Which really did a number on my ribs. Especially because I had nothing much in my stomach, so I heaved for most of the experience.

When I finally stopped, my eyes were watering and I was sweaty. When I wiped my mouth, the blood had wet again and smeared. I can't imagine how absolutely sexy I looked. Hair a mess, face bloody and sweaty, sickly pale, and bruises all over.

I wrapped an arm around my ribs, leaning forward with a grimace. I don't suggest getting sick with a few broken ribs. It_ hurts_.

Clark leaned down, concerned and worried as always. I hadn't forgiven him yet, so I didn't respond to his hand on my back and his questions. I answered them all in my head.

"Are you okay?" _Obviously not. "_What's wrong?" _I just puked in front of an audience. _"Where are you hurt?"_ EVERYWHERE, MORON!_

But just then, Batman came over and crouched down next to me, his cape fluttering over the ground. He moved my arm away from my ribs. Then he took his hands, no joke, and like put them on my sides. His fingers felt around the bones. One finger hit a spot and it took _everything_ in me not to shriek and/or punch him in the face.

All in all, that was the only silver lining in the whole situation. Batman's hands on my sides. He's very gentle despite the scary muscles and black bat attire. He only confirmed what I already knew, my ribs were broken. But damn. _Damn_. I wasn't complaining.

Then, the moment was over. All good things must come to an end, right?

Batman left dramatically in his sleek black jet that seemed to come out of nowhere with a press of a button. After he left Clark wouldn't stop babbling over me. And not the sweet kind of babbling that makes you go 'Aww, he cares'. It was the kind of babbling that made me want to tug up his tights and give him the biggest, most deadly wedgie this world has ever seen.

Even Lois was hounding me with questions. But never did she once say: "Belladonna, thanks for risking your life and breaking your ribs for me! I appreciate it!"

No. No she didn't. See if I try and save her next time around.


	5. Chapter 5

A week passed. I got to take time off of work, Clark covered for me, he told everyone I was visiting family out of town. Really all I did was sit in bed and eat ice cream. Ben and Jerry's: the magic healing concoction. Clark handled everything that came up from Metropolis streets well enough without me. I sort of liked the break. It was a mini-vacation away from everything that stressed me out. Work, crime, and most recently Bruce Wayne.

But Saturday night was the end of my bliss. For one, Clark came in, upset. So naturally I asked him what was wrong. I expected him to complain about the Joker's discreetness for the last few days, or some new task that had been laid out in front of him.

Nope.

Lois and Bruce were serious. Lois was planning to transfer her to Gotham so she could live with him.

So, we were in the same boat. Sappy and heart broken. I offered him some ice cream but he declined. There was a distress signal coming from a Coast Guard cruiser off the shoreline and he was going to go inspect it. In a few minutes he was gone again.

At least he had something to do to take his mind off of it. Me? I got to wallow in my sheets with my Ben and Jerry's, feeling sorry for myself. I had gotten my hopes up with that little display of kindness when he felt my ribs; of course it didn't mean he loved me. Why in the hell would it?

That's what bright blue eyes and big muscles do to a girl, ya know? Makes 'em crazy. We start seeing signs that don't exist.

God, it was Bruce Wayne, what was I thinking? A cold, stiff rich guy with no personality, and who dressed up in black every night to go protect his city from evil. Despite the good looks, how had I ended up falling for him? I'd only known him for a couple of weeks. And I don't even think it counts as _knowing_ him.

He didn't talk much, at least not to me. And the times I did see him, he was mostly going off with Lois somewhere. So thinking back, I believe it was more of a school-girl, fan-girl crush rather than the term _falling_ for him.

Lying there with my ice cream, I eventually made peace with my heart break. I didn't really love him; it was just a silly crush. He could have Lois if he wanted. Obviously he found her attractive, and by some will of fate was able to stand her, so it was best I didn't interfere.

I felt quite content after about a half an hour of mulling over it. iI don't need Bruce Wayne! There are tons of fish in the sea._ Tons_.

That was before Batman swooped into my room. The dark shadow that came in from the balcony almost got a scream out of me. Here I was, lying with the sheets tangled around me in just a ratty t-shirt and pajama shorts that had little popsicles all over them…and there was this huge, dark _mass_ landing on my carpet.

And when the mass finally identified itself, the light sweeping over the figure, I almost let a scream go _again._ But not one of terror, one of humiliation. Batman stood at the side of my bed.

So far, I had not made a good impression. Sure, I tried to look my best at work just on the chance that he'd come there for his and Lois's frequent dates. I'd put on some make-up, attempted to make my hair look acceptable and wore my best skirt. But I don't think he ever looked once.

There had only been two times I think he'd gotten a good look at me. One when I was puking my brains out, bloody and bruised, and two, while I was lying in my bed in pajamas, eating ice cream. No _wonder_ he went for Lois.

He must have smelled the essence of 'loser' right when he first laid eyes on me.

"Uhhhh," was the brilliant greeting that fell out of my mouth.

"Get suited up, you're coming with me."

"Right now?"

He didn't answer me, the look in his eye answered for me._ Yes right now, idiot._ _Now do what I say before I throw you out the window._ I could feel his sternness as if it were a fog filling up the room. My eyes widened and I drew the covers off me.

"Yessir," I slurred, fumbling to get up.

He didn't move, he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. I swerved around him to my dresser, mortified at the drawer I had to open. The _underwear_ drawer. I'd tossed my costume in there after washing it, not really caring in which drawer it went to. I didn't think I'd have to get it out in front of Batman.

I absolutely fail at life.

I slammed the drawer shut, cheeks flaming, and then raced to the little bathroom. I got dressed easily. My ribs were still a bit sore, but had healed nicely. Then there were a few bruises that pestered me, but nothing that would hinder me from helping out like Clark had thought. He refused to let me help him out all week even when I told him my ribs were better.

I came out of the bathroom after attempting to flatten my wild hair a bit. I wandered over to him and without warning he grabbed my waist and launched us off the balcony. We fell through the cool night air together. My hair flew crazily around my face and his as well as we dropped from my tenth story apartment. I had no breath to apologize.

When the initial shock wore off, and we were still falling, I started getting scared.

"Uhhh," I said for the second time that night. God, he must have thought I was mentally retarded.

Right before I would have started screaming, he lifted his free arm that wasn't wrapped around me (Haha, Lois!) and shot something to the building adjacent to us. Whatever he shot hooked around the lip of the building and the gravity shifted. Instead of plummeting we were now swinging.

My resolution to get over Bruce Wayne had jumped out the window with us. But instead of swinging to safety as we were, it splattered against the ground and completely died.

Batman suddenly pressed something on his chest. I then realized there was a black contraption encircling him. When he pressed the button wings suddenly shot from the machine strapped to him. He let go of the rope thing and we flew.

It wasn't a smooth as flying with Clark was, but at least it was flying. I prefer flying to swinging.

Before I could even ask what was going on, he started explaining.

"I just saw a blimp go by with the Joker's face on it, it said to meet him at the harbor," he said, his voice dark but loud over the wind, "And Superman's never around when you need him."

Did Batman just kinda admit he needed help? From me of all people? Woah.

I couldn't think of anything to say. I wasn't surprised that we flew in silence.

When we landed at the harbor, the Joker greeted us with a horse-sized robot. The clown called it a 'welcoming gift' and then sent it after Batman and I. This was the part where I guessed Batman wished he would have left me at home. My powers wouldn't be valid against a hunk of metal, no matter how intelligent it was. And he didn't send me after the escaping Joker on my own.

So once again, I was useless to any cause. Just a burden.

Batman hurled a batarang at the thing. The metal made a loud sound against the robot, but didn't cause any hindrance. It kept coming for us. It had four legs, a long neck and a cylindrical head with a bunch of flashing lights on it. It was pretty freaking intimidating.

Rather than to bore you with the whole Batman and I swinging around Metropolis streets trying to get the robot off our tails, I'll just get to the interesting part. The part that tempted me to honestly throw myself in front of the robot and let it kill me. Really, I was considering it.

Batman had me by the waist again and we were in mid-air, hurtling into the windows of the Daily Planet. We realized about ten minutes earlier that the robot thing could scale buildings.So while we were swinging we were continually dodging shots from it. We didn't get so lucky this time. One of the shots severed the rope of the Batarang in mid-swing and we were heading for the building at alarming speed.

There wasn't time to scream. Seconds after I realized Batman and I weren't hanging onto anything, we crashed through the windows. We happened to land on the floor where Clark, Lois and I worked. _Land_ might be too mild of a word, actually.

I think my forehead hit the window before anything else of my body did. Then with Batman's momentum added to mine, we shattered the glass and tumbled into the large room. His grip slid from around me and I bounced away from him, crashing into a few desks and tumbling like a rag doll. I came to a stop just a little away from Batman.

He landed on his shoulder, but managed to flip around and was back on his feet within seconds of hitting the floor. Me, on the other hand, landed in a bruised heap a few feet away, crumpled and pitiful. I pulled myself unsteadily to my feet and felt something warm ooze down the side of my face.

I didn't have time to feel for the wound. I could already hear the metallic swishes of the robot's legs as it scaled the building after us. I went to join up with Batman again when he darted forward and grabbed someone. He shifted the person in his arms. I guessed it was the janitor working late. Poor Batman, _another _burden to bring along.

But when the person was shifted, I saw high heels and an all too familiar head of black hair.

"You've got to be kidding me," I remember hissing under my breath as I jogged after Batman.

Of all the nights Lois had to be here all by herself, finishing up some stupid report, it was tonight. What were the odds? Why did my life suck so badly? Was this karma for all my drug days? Was this the punishment I got? To be cursed with stupid Lois Lane?

The robot entered the building through the large broken window, crawling quickly after us.

I sprinted into stairwell after Batman, who put Lois on her feet and then slammed the door behind us. He drew some wire stuff from his belt and tried wrapping the handle of the door to the banister next to it to keep anything from opening it.

"Is there something I should know?" Lois asked, placing her hands on her hips.

I was so close to punching her in the face. Honestly, when you're getting saved, you don't ask questions! Was she that self-centered? Did she think that her question was more important then the impending danger of the robot that was trying to claw it's way through the poorly fastened door?

I mean, it could just be me, but isn't it common sense that when you're in danger and are being saved by someone, you shut up until the area is safe? Jesus, I hate that woman.

To my satisfaction, Batman didn't answer her, and just tugged the wire tighter. The door shook from the robot's efforts to open it, the wall cracking and breaking apart as one thick metal leg came through. Batman grabbed Lois again and ran down the rest of the stairwell. I stayed behind and tried to press my back up against the door.

Probably not the smartest idea. I wasn't strong enough against a thousand pound robot. It broke down the door and sent me flying down the stairs. I crumpled into the corner of the stairwell as the robot descended past me, searching for Batman.

I had never felt so useless in my life. I couldn't do anything more than Lois could to stop this thing. And _that_'s demeaning.

I got up, the pain in my head from the glass wound finally registering. I ignored it and headed down the rest of the stairs which lead to the large printing room in the basement. Lois was no where to be seen. I guessed Batman was smart enough to hide her somewhere where she wouldn't be in danger.

I would have suggested we use her as bait if I wasn't afraid of getting a batarang in the throat.

The robot backed Batman against the printing machine. I ran forward and tried to jump up on the thing's back, determined to make myself useful for once. I pounded it's head with my fists, as if that would do anything. It bucked me off within three seconds of my getting on.

I hit the ground on my side and skidded to a halt, watching from my position on the floor as Batman bent backwards toward the huge rollers that were fed paper for the newspaper.

"BATMAN!" I screamed, scrambling to my feet.

It was too late; the tips of the bat ears on his mask went into the rollers and ripped backwards. At first I thought Batman was dead. I pictured his head being fed through the rollers, flattened like a pancake. I ran forward and wrapped my arms around the robot's legs, trying to drag it away from the printer. It spun finally and turned it's attention to me.

Behind it I saw Bruce Wayne's face, bright blue eyes glowering at the back of the robot.

My entire body relaxed. So he wasn't dead. His mask had just been sucked into the rollers. He hurled another batarang at the thing, this time the device exploded across one of its hind legs. The robot crippled and hit the floor. Bruce sent another at the thing's head and I ducked with the explosion. The thing finally fell as I jumped away. It had been destroyed.

"Bruce?"

Lois came from behind one of the machines, her eyes wide and tone venomous. Bruce didn't respond, and turned to try and fish his mask from the rollers. He slid it back over his face, which was emotionless as always.

"When were you going to tell me? The honeymoon?" Lois barked, her hands on her hips again.

Yet again: all about her. Nothing else mattered. She didn't even thank him from saving her from the robot. What the hell did Clark and Bruce see in her?

Batman stepped forward to say something, when the robot buzzed and rose to its feet again. I whirled and braced myself, ready for another injury. Suddenly something broke through the ceiling and landed hard on the robot, squashing it like a bug underneath two red booted feet.

Clark's cape fluttered gently to his back once again and he smirked. "Did I miss anything?"


	6. Chapter 6

._"What?"_

It had been over a week since the newspapers had stopped screaming about the trio of do-gooders who had saved Metropolis: Superman, Batman and Belladonna. It was over a week since the headlines stopped reading: JOKER: MISSING IN ACTION. Life had gotten considerably better for me.

Clark and Bruce were still jumping down each other's throats. No one had made amends, even with the team work. But, on the bright side:Lois had ended her relationship with Bruce.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. I'm not kidding. She dumped him because she didn't like the whole Batman idea. Amazing, right?

I mean I still hate the woman. Because of course she went crawling right back to Superman as if nothing had happened. Clark came home starry-eyed and would tell me how he'd taken her for a fly over the city and how everything was back to normal. Men are dumb. But I didn't give him any advice. He liked her, so I stayed out of it for the most part.

She didn't concern me anymore.

But Bruce Wayne did.

I was sitting at the foot of my bed, my legs crossed. My mouth hung open at Clark who had his muscled arms folded over his suit. My former cry of outrage seemed to hang along the curtains.

"Bella, it'll be good for you," Clark prodded.

"I disagree," I countered.

"Well, I already talked to Bruce about it."

"You _what_? Ugh, Clark!"

With a loud groan I flopped over on my back, placing my hands over my face. From one hell to another. I mean, I know I should have been excited.

Clark was sending me to Gotham City.

Clark was sending me to live temporarily with millionaire Bruce Wayne so he could "properly train me".

You know what I hate?

My life.

"C'mon Bella, Bruce can teach you a lot of the things that I can't," Clark continued, sitting down next to me on the bed, "And it'll just be for a month or so."

"I'm not going to live to see 19," I whined, my hands still over my face.

I couldn't fathom the idea of living with Bruce Wayne for a month. In his big scary mansion, in the criminal infested Gotham. Hell, I wasn't even really worried about the crime and murder there. I was more worried about Bruce. Living with the cold, -but incredibly handsome- Bruce Wayne. How in the hell did Clark expect me to survive?

Would I have to eat with him? God –living with him would mean I'd have to _talk_ to him.

And he was training me, how humiliating. Hadn't I gone through enough with this guy? When would the torture be over?

Well, maybe there would be a silver lining. Maybe he walked around the house in his underwear. That would make it worth it.

Yeah, I'm still glad Clark can't read minds.

I dressed in my nicest cream sweater and my dark jeans the morning I left. I even pulled my thick hair into two long pigtails that fell over my shoulders, and put on a little make-up.

The large private jet that Bruce had sent for me roared to life as I reached up and wrapped my arms around Clark. I had given him the cold shoulder the last few days, angry as a daughter would be to her father for sending her off to boarding school. But hugging him then, the sibling feel returned to our relationship. I squeezed him tight.

I was gonna miss the guy a lot. He really was the closest person in my life, my big brother who protected me from anything and everything. He was like my safety net at times, and now I was loosing the security. I was going out into the big world all on my own.

"You'll be fine, Bella," Clark murmured in my ear, giving me a gentle squeeze back, "And you know how to reach me if you need anything."

"I want white flowers at my funeral," I groaned as I pulled away, but gave him a grin.

He returned it and ruffled my hair with his large hand. "You'll be fine," he repeated, and then looked over my head to the jet.

"Bye Clark," I said, grabbing my suitcase and hoisting it up.

"See you soon, Bella."

Someone took my bags and then lead me up the stairs towards the body of the jet. I slipped inside and was escorted to a big plush chair against a window. It was pretty fancy inside the jet. Nothing that I'd ever been exposed to. Remember, I'd been raised on the streets and then evolved on the ladder to a meager first-time reporter's salary. Sure Clark helped me out here and there, but most of the time he left it up to me to accept my responsibilities.

Barf, right?

I sat down at the comfy chair, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the luxury. The man who had escorted me up asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I declined and he nodded before slipping away. I turned my head to look out the window.

Clark was still outside. I knocked on the glass and gave him a wave when he turned. Thank goodness for super-hearing. Because I really needed that last, reassuring smile he gave me.


	7. Chapter 7

I got into a limo when I arrived in Gotham. Luxury, yet again. The same man took my bags, held the door to the vehicle open for me, and treated me like royalty. I felt really strange.

It wasn't even night time and I could tell the difference between the two cities. Gotham reeked of darkness and violence, while Metropolis gave the feeling of welcome and warmth. The heroes in both cities were appropriate. Dark and gloomy Batman from a dark and gloomy city. And then glowing, warm Superman from a warm and glowing city.

So where did I fit in?

There was champagne and bottled water in the back of the limo. But the drive through the city was anything but relaxing. My anxiety was just gaining momentum. I pulled on my pigtails, bit my nails and hummed ridiculously off tune to the songs on the radio that I recognized.

I had hoped the drive would take longer than it did.

It was only about ten minutes until we pulled up to the looming manor, it's brilliant stonework and elegant landscaping standing out against the industrial grey of the city. My eyes widened.

"Oh," I murmured. Well that was a bit intimidating.

The chauffeur gave me my bags and shooed me off to the front doors as he drove the limo away from sight, probably to put it back in the Wayne Manor's mall-sized garage. Did it even have a garage? There was so much mystery to this place. It was right out of a horror movie or something.

Perfect place to house Batman. Absolutely freaking perfect.

I gently tapped at the bronze knocker on the large wooden door, glancing over my shoulder worriedly. The limo and the chauffer were no where to be found. What if no one was home? What if this wasn't the right house? _Oh, of course, it has to be the other huge mansion in this city. Pfft._

Right as I started getting delusional with my anxiety, the door opened.

An older man dressed primly in a black tux -a ribbon knotted at his throat- stood in front of me. There was warmth in his eyes that instantly mollified me. And as if to purposely calm my raging nerves, he gave me a genuine, friendly smile and reached forward to take my bags.

"Afternoon," he said politely, "Ms. Sweet, I presume?"

"Err…hey," I said, struggling to procreate the same elegance in my voice that he possessed (I failed miserably, but I tried), "Yeah, that's me."

The man stepped aside and gestured me in with a flick of his head and another warm smile. He had such a kindness about him, like a long lost grandpa or something. I just wanted to hug him.

"Good, good," he said, "Master Bruce is down in his study, but he told me to show you to your room and make sure you were comfortable."

My muscles tightened again at the mention of Bruce. This old guy had made me feel comfortable for the two seconds I'd known him, and my fears had been dampened. But now they rose back up and tugged the reigns tighter on my neck. I struggled to get a breath.

"Oh, okay, thank you," I sputtered out, moving forward so he could close the door behind us. I followed him when he started to walk, falling almost in step with him.

"You may call me Alfred, and if you ever need anything you just come and ask me," he said as we walked.

As we walked, I marveled at the house. It was absolutely gorgeous inside the horror movie, stone exterior. It breathed with glorious art, elegant, ancient structures, and all sorts of expensive marble and fixtures down the winding halls. I had a feeling I would be getting lost more times than one in my stay there.

The whole atmosphere still intimidated me. Here I was, street scum, in this elaborate mansion with this butler guy carrying my bags and referring to me as _Ms. Sweet_. Crazy shit. Crraazzy.

Alfred lead me into a gorgeous guest room. It was big, with a huge bed with silken coverings, right next to a big open window that let the sweet sunlight spill onto the floor. There was some sort of wood carved dresser, a big mirror and a closet. Then there was an open door to a little bathroom with a coral pink bathtub and a wide mirror and counter. God I felt so weird.

"Thank you, Alfred," I said as he set my bags down near the door.

He bowed a bit and then gave another smile, "Of course, Ms. Sweet," he said, "Dinner will bit in an hour or so. I'll come get you."

He must have seen the relief that flooded over my face, because he chuckled before exiting, closing the door as he went.

The hour flew by. Before I knew it Alfred knocked on the door. I met him in the threshold and we walked together through the vast hallways that seemed to wind forever, deeper and deeper into the manor. Finally we ended up in the dining room that was fit for a King. The table was longer than Clark's apartment and there were more chairs than I had friends. I froze, feeling my eyes get bigger and bigger. Alfred chuckled from behind me and pressed his hand at the small of my back, forcing me in a bit.

"Master Bruce will be up shortly, he's doing something important, I'm sure." There was a hint of sarcasm and a rich quantity of smile in Alfred's voice and it hung in the room even after he slipped through the other doors.

That man sure had a way of making people feel comfortable. I even managed a little laugh, which was surprising seeing as how absolutely petrified I was. I lowered myself into the plush velvet chair next to the head of the table where I suspected Bruce would sit and folded my hands in my lap.

Should I have dressed up? All I wore was a pair of jeans and my sweater. It wasn't horrible, but it didn't suit the dining room, that was for sure. That was sad.

The food came before Bruce did. And it came served on a huge silver platter. When it was given to me and distributed on my plate, I realized I was eating on fine china instead of a paper plate, and my glass was actually glass rather than a Dixie cup. Jesus, where the hell was I?

The food looked like it came out of a five star restaurant, and I watched the steam come off it in ghostly, sinuous tendons. I would have been happy just eating the steam, that's all I felt deserving of. I sat there after Alfred disappeared again after filling Bruce's plate, content to watch the steam forever. Bruce entered.

He wore a nice blue dress shirt that made his eyes seem to flame and sparkle from his face It was undone just a bit and his tie hung undone as well. The most casual, and the most dayum sexy I'd ever seen him. I almost flipped over in my chair. Thankfully I was smart enough to grip the table edge as if it was flying away, just incase I involuntarily keeled over in his presence. His cologne whisked over my face as he passed to sit at the head of the massive table. I gripped the table tighter.

"Sorry I'm late," he said gruffly.

"No worries," I squeaked out, trying to keep my eyes anywhere but him.

After a moment of silence, I finally asked what had been bugging me ever since the food came, "Do you always eat like this?"

I looked up and watched him shift; his muscled body leaned back in the large chair that towered above his head of neat black hair. "Not usually," he admitted, his voice a usual, deep monotone.

"I can't cook to save my life. I usually rely on cereal on late nights. Alfred takes good care of me though, I usually get decent meals. Not like this though –he must like you." I could have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile across his handsome mouth. But there was no hint of it in his voice.

He was much more human now. Bruce Wayne and Batman were two completely different people.

We started to eat. I had to keep myself from grabbing the plate and vacuuming the entire meal up. I have the appetite of about three grown men, and I'd NEVER had food that nice before. I was in absolute pig heaven, I just couldn't express it. I tried to be as ladylike as possible. The only thing I couldn't hide was the voracious, crazy look in my eyes as I placed the food in my mouth.

Bruce swallowed and then leaned forward, his blue eyes hypnotizing me momentarily. I even stopped chewing for a second before I snapped myself out of the daze.

"I'd like to know more about you. Tell me about yourself."

I felt myself bristle. Was he hitting on me? That was such a cliché line, especially at a nice dinner. What a tool, what a freakin' tool. No way in hell was I going to be a rebound from Lois Lane.

"What do you want to know?" I asked, a bit icier than I meant to actually.

He wasn't phased, as usual. His face stayed emotionless. "Anything you're willing to tell me," he said, his voice smooth, "How did you get involved with Superman?"

Uncomfortable with the interrogation already, although relieved this wasn't actually a try to hit on me after all, I shifted in my seat and poked at the food. I really only planned to tell him the basic facts. Honestly, I did. Because I'm really not the kind of girl who blabs on for hours and hours about her personal life to strangers. But when I opened my mouth, his bright eyes just took on his crazy look. I knew he was listening. He actually cared about what I had to say.

This was rare for me. I mean Clark's a great guy, but he's just got too much on his plate to listen to me. I don't hold anything against him for it. And Lois sure as hell doesn't give to shits about that I think or what I say. And who else do I have to talk to? Sure I have friends from my old job and friends from the Daily Planet, but I can't talk to them about my past. I have an identity, two identities actually, to protect.

And here was finally someone who I could open up to, who wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me, who wanted to hear me run my mouth. It was just too tempting to pass up. Like the fat kid seeing a piece of candy on the ground after being put on a diet for two years.

So I spilled.

I started off with my parents. They dropped me off on the streets when I was six because my powers freaked them out. I told him how I remembered a little bit of them and how they weren't very nice people to begin with so their decision wasn't much of a surprise. Of course, to a six year old it was. I wondered the streets bawling my little eyes out, so hungry I was tempted to steal (the first stage of my corruption) and so alone I just wanted to give up.

Now, if fate had been with me, a nice old lady might have found me, or the waiter outside

the back of the restaurant, or the teenaged girl taking her dog for a walk. Any of those would have been sufficient. But of course I had to be found by the tattooed, pierced and dangerous leader of one of the tiny gangs in Metropolis. They called themselves 'rats de la rue' which is Street Rats in French.

I showed Bruce the tattoo on the inside of my lip, the mark that I used to swear my allegiance to them when I was of age. All it said was Rue in messy black ink (from hands far from professional). They took me in at six, at ten I got the tattoo.

Then I told him how my life went for those next ten years. I robbed banks, stole food, used guns (never to hurt anyone though, just to scare the shit out of them), threatened people- I did pretty much what ever the hell I wanted. And I was treated like a little princess by everyone in the gang because of my powers. Before I came along they had to scrounge for what they wanted. With my powers, one brush of a rich man's skin and we had wads of cash rolling into our pockets, drugs swimming through our lungs and food filling up our stomachs.

I left out how I was beaten when my plants didn't go smoothly, and how I lost my virginity at 15 to one of the gang members. Clark didn't even know that last part. And for good reason, I think he'd have gone right out into the Metropolis streets and rip off the head of every boy he could find.

But I continued on after he'd asked his questions. The end of my gang adventures was when I was sixteen. I had an assignment to murder one of our dealers. The gang didn't want to deal with the messy body or chore of hiding it, so they told me to use my powers and tell him to go jump off the big hotel building smack dab center in Metropolis.

I refused. And that's how Clark and I met.

When I refused, the rough and tough ones of my gang dragged me into an ally and beat everything out of me. I didn't even know how to throw a punch back then so I got busted up pretty bad. Here I was again making myself sound like a complete loser in front of Bruce again. Some superhero I am, I get beat up everywhere I go apparently.

Anyway, they left me there to find my way back on my own. I never got up. Clark happened to be patrolling that side of Metropolis that night. He found me and took me to the hospital, where once I regained consciousness and had my collapsed long fixed up I told him everything.

He took me in and I never fought against him. I was desperate for that new beginning that he was dangling in front of me. I latched onto it.

Bruce actually listened the _entire_ time. He asked a few questions here and there, nodded when appropriate, and even stopped eating to listen. Now that's a big feat for a man. Usually nothing can separate them from their food. I took a breath, finding my throat curiously dry.

"Wow, sorry," I murmured, combing a stray hair that had escaped from a braid behind my ear, "Didn't mean to talk your ear off."

Bruce didn't smile, but there was a bit of..._honey_ I guess you could say, in the usual ice of his inflection.

"No, I'm glad you talked. Seems like you needed to get that off your chest."

I relaxed into my chair, exhausted with relief. I had needed to get it off my chest. For a scary, cold man who dressed like a bat, Bruce Wayne was a very sensitive, intelligent guy. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I'd talked for 20 minutes probably, and that's more than I think I've EVER talked consecutively. I listen more than I talk most of the time. But here he was, sitting in all his handsome air, Bruce Wayne had just gotten little old me to spill every thing out on the table.

Thankfully before the silence could get too awkward, Alfred came in with some type of desert. I knew he had been listening to my story. I could read the way he looked at me. It was different. Not in a bad way, just in a sympathetic, deeper-understanding way. I was so absolutely uncomfortable and embarrassed. I wanted to fling myself out the three story window, or at least find a remote and rewind that entire thing, wishing I hadn't talked for so long.

But deep inside, there was new space. I'd let a lot go in that twenty minutes, and I felt like I could breathe easier.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said softly as he set the dishes.

"I do hope you enjoy, sir, I made your favorite."

Chocolate. Rich, dark and thick, sitting right in front of me. Don't trust people who say diamonds are a girl's best friend. They lie. _Chocolate_, is a girl's best friend. It was exactly what I needed. For the first time since I walked inside Wayne Manor, I felt comfortable. More than comfortable. I felt content.


	8. Chapter 8

Sleep took me quickly, which was surprising. After dinner I went upstairs and went right to bed after brushing my teeth and such. I expected to lie awake for hours thinking about what I had said to Bruce, and I expected to think about the gang and my real parents and how embarrassed I was for spilling all of it at the dinner table. But I hit the mattress and was _out_. It wasn't hard with the heavenly silk sheets and the sweet smell of the forest on my side of the manor that streamed in through the huge open window beside the bed.

At Clark's place I had an old quilt and cotton sheets, and a twelve dollar fan. But I was always comfortable. Even though I feel asleep quick, I still felt a little homesick already. Now was that sad or what? I knew I should have called before I went to sleep. I'd never admit to it, but I missed the big guy.

In the morning, I opened the door sleepily to Already who had knocked gently before. I probably looked like a mess, because he smiled.

"Sleep well, Ms. Sweet?"

I tried to match the warmth in his smile with my own, "Yeah, actually. Doesn't look it though, does it?"

He chuckled good-naturedly and shook his head, "You look fine, Ms. Sweet. You should see Master Bruce in the morning."

That actually got a laugh out of me, my mood brightening and home-sickness fading. But then Alfred continued, and all the happiness was stripped from my tired body.

"Speaking of Master Bruce, he requests you dress in your 'work-out' clothes this morning."

I raised an eyebrow, just staring at him for a moment. When he chuckled, the puzzle clicked into place. This was to be my first morning of training. I had almost forgotten the reason I was here. I moaned and turned to bang my head on the wooden door frame.

"Don't worry, Ms. Sweet, I'm sure he'll go easy on you since it _is_ the first day," Alfred assured.

"You're lying."

"Most likely," he said, smiling.

"At least you're honest," I said after a pause, my voice tired and eyes cast dejectedly to the floor, "Thanks Alfred, I'll be out in just a sec."

He nodded with another one of his touching smiles, his old eyes twinkling with nothing short of amusement. He bowed a bit before stepping out of the doorway a bit.

"I'll wait for you out here, Ms. Sweet."

He closed the door to leave me to my privacy, and with a sigh I wandered over to the dresser. I'd already unpacked my stuff into the mahogany bureau and threw open a few of the drawers to try and find the one where I'd put all my "athletic" clothes in. With another drawn out sigh, I stripped down and then grabbed what I needed. A green sports bra, a black tank top, a pair of white mesh shorts, pink socks and my sneakers. I put all of them on as fast as I could so Alfred wouldn't be kept waiting long and then as a finishing touch pulled my wild hair into somewhat of a pony tail. It was tangled and thick, but at least it kept it off my neck.

I stepped reluctantly out the door.

"Ready to beat the world, "Alfred said in encouraging admiration.

"Ready to die," I corrected, but gave him a smile.

Alfred led me down the extensive, dark hallways again where I got glimpses of the morning sun from the small windows we passed. I tried to keep all my thoughts of last night and my embarrassment out of my head. I wondered what Alfred thought of me now. What Bruce thought. It was all so stressful and awkward. I wanted to escape back into my new room and bury myself under the covers again.

Thankfully there was something to take my mind off my inner turmoil. We arrived in the work out room. Alfred bowed and exited out another door with a parting word and a reassuring wink. I searched around the machines for Bruce, my heart rattling in my chest.

The sudden clink of weights from my right caught my attention. I turned to see Bruce rising from one of the bench presses.

I felt my breath catch in my throat. He was shirtless, his immense musculature glimmering lightly with perspiration. His broad shoulders were painfully obvious with no cloth over them, the dip of his strong collar bones hypnotizing me. Trailing down from his shoulders were his huge arms, curves of strength winding down them like bands of steel. This was the case with his strong torso, where the ripples of muscle narrowed down to his hips, and the indentations of the bones glistening.

"Morning," his greeting was a bit anticlimactic. He wiped his face with a towel.

"M-morning," I squeaked out, "Er…hold on, I think I dropped something…uh…out there."

Smooth as _sandpaper_.

I escaped out of the room and into the hallway before he could ask a question. There I took a few steps the way I'd come. I stopped and slapped myself in the face..._hard_. Then I turned around and came back into the room and gave him grin, concentrating as hard as I could on his _face_ and nothing else.

"Find what you were looking for?" he asked.

"Just imagining things," I said with an uneasy laugh, and then I felt my cheeks go dark red when I realized how that sentence could have been taken.

Why oh why had Clark done this to me? _Why_?

"So what's first?" I asked my voice an octave higher than it should have been.

Bruce had already turned around and was fumbling inside a box near one of the machines. He tossed me a little plastic container. There was a mouth guard inside.

"Hand to hand combat," he said, and gestured with a flick of his head to the open space in the back of the room.

I gulped, "You want me to put this on? Is it necessary?" I held up the mouth guard.

"Yes, and…hopefully not," he said. It was difficult to tell if he was joking around with me.

As I stuffed it in my mouth and started to walk over, I found myself praying. _Hey, God, it's me Bella. Yeah, I know we haven't talked in a while. Actually…I don't think we've ever talked. Sorry about that. Anyways, I was wondering if you could help me out here. I mean, I'd rather not die. I've still got my whole life ahead—_

"Okay, let's get the basics down. Do you know how to punch?" Bruce interrupted my pleading.

"Um…" I let loose a brilliant, muffled reply, my eyes wandering down to his six-pack. This was really unfair; he already had an advantage over me with his shirt off like that. I wasn't going to be able to concentrate.

"Here, just punch me," he commanded.

I stood there, frozen. I know he was _offering_ but I still held back in blind terror. Punch Batman? Would _you_?

"C'mon, don't hold back, just punch me in the arm," he said, still not convincing me. But he held true to his reputation for being brilliant and knew just how to hit a nerve in me. He finished with a nickname, "Right here…kid."

I felt my nose wrinkle, my lips protesting against the mouth guard, and sent my fist as hard as I could into his shoulder. Thankfully my loud 'Ouch' was muted by the mouth guard. I reeled back. His shoulder was like a rock.

Bruce grabbed my throbbing hand carefully, the touch of his warm fingers chipping at my self-control and my balance. He handled my little hand in his like a bird, twisting it I think to make sure it was alright, and then moving it around a bit to adjust. I swear my eyes were about to roll back inside my head.

"You'll break your hand if you punch like that," he said softly, readjusting my thumb and my knuckles until they were a proper fist, "Try it now."

He broke away from me. Thankfully while his eyes were still on my hand I teetered. When he looked back up I had regained my balance. I tried punching him again. He snorted.

"Get angry."

"I need a reason," I shot back, a little annoyed with the whole situation.

"Think of one."

It took me about two seconds for a reason. Lois's face appeared behind my eyelids when I closed my gaze, letting her bitchy, flirtatious _essence_ flow through me. I opened my eyes and Bruce was no longer Bruce. It was Lois, her hair curled perfectly, eyelashes long and batting, skirt too short for her toned legs and jacket too low for her negative A-cup.

"Ready?" she asked in her grinding voice.

I sent my fist into her face as hard as I could. I wanted nothing more than to break her pretty little jaw.

"SHIT!" I heard the cuss before I even realized I was the one who had shouted it. I shot out of my little reverie in an instant and realized I'd just whacked Bruce in the mouth. He was turned away from me, holding his strong jaw with a tight hand.

"Oh…oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't….you said to get...Jesus, are you okay?" my words slurred together in my horror, tumbling out of my mouth in a mess and landing in a sloppy pile on the floor.

I realized he was laughing. _Laughing_.

"That was pretty good," he said, turning back and still rubbing his jaw while he chuckled, "Harder than I expected, actually."

The blood drained from my face when I saw the blood from his lip. It was just a tiny nick, probably from his teeth when I got him, but there was still blood. I'd drawn blood on Batman. True, he'd _told_ me to punch him, and he wasn't even defending himself…but I _did _manage to hurt him. The guy who had floored Superman!

I was too petrified to be excited then, but I sure as hell was later. _That's for picking Lane instead of me the first time, Brucey._

After my horror was over and I'd apologized about three thousand times, we started the training again. He taught me the proper technique of hand-to-hand combat, when to punch, where to punch, how to punch –all the while I was picturing him as Lois.

But at one point half way through the work-out (I was sweating like a 300 lb man, but too tired to be embarrassed) he grabbed my waist. He was _just_ shifting me so I could get a better angle with my attack, but of course me being me, I got paranoid and defensive and thought he was trying to hit on me. It's not so much being vain, I'm really not. It's just...I overanalyze things to hell.

Not to say I didn't enjoy it, I did. But I thought touching was unjustified. I'd touch _him _pretty soon and tell him to go fall down the stairwell and never get up. I stopped using Lois as my excuse for anger, and targeted him. The anger from the other night came back. _I am no ones rebound._

He was not going to get all buddy-buddy with me, if he thought he could with his richness and the amazing, astounding, breathtaking, hypnotizing body of his…then he was **dead** wrong. Men think they can get what ever they want, and that pissed me off enough to improve. I took his teachings as if they were Clark's, and threw my punches harder, aimed in the correct points and blocked his blows.

I threw a punch at his stomach (we were wearing boxing gloves at that point so we could actually fight), keeping my other arm close to my side as he'd instructed.

"See, you left your right side open again," Bruce corrected, swinging his fist to my unguarded face.

I didn't really think he was going to punch me. I don't think he did either. It all happened so fast. He hit me in _just_ that right spot on the bridge of my nose. I backed up and ripped one of the gloves off, cupping it under my nose as the blood started to drip.

"Oh," Bruce said, his eyes wide. We had switched roles. I the one in pain and he the flabbergasted perpetrator.

He made a move to go forward and help me. My anger was ablaze then. I really shouldn't have been so mad at him, because he hadn't done anything wrong. He probably didn't even think of me like that. But I had set my mind on it and had been brewing over it for the past hour while we fought.

Combat and bottled anger really wasn't the best concoction.

"Don't worry about it," I growled, my hand soaked in dark cherry liquid.

"Did I really hit you that hard?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"No, my nose is just bleeding because it's her time of the month," I snapped.

Poor, poor Bruce. Now was the time he was probably regretting the decision to agree to take in a moody, teenaged girl. His eyes widened a bit at my tone and he backed up, as if to surrender.

"Well we can be done for today, you can go clean up," he offered, slipping off his own gloves.

"Yay," I said, the ice thick and hard in my voice.

I stormed out of the room, drenched in sweat, dripping blood all over his expensive carpet, and not giving a damn. Why I was so mad? I can't exactly tell you. I think it was a mixture of being homesick, the unfairness I was suddenly realizing, the betrayal I felt by Clark, the anger at my own stupidity and embarrassment of telling my story, my pull towards the handsome millionaire I was supposed to hate –yaddah yaddah. It just all boiled over and _almost_ made me snap at Alfred when he passed by me.

"Ms. Sweet, are you alright?" he asked, leaning forward.

I counted to ten inside my head to keep from screaming at him and then drew a breath in. No I wasn't going to cry. I _don't _cry. I stopped when I was eight, because there was no more use for it. It doesn't help anything.

"Batman just punched me in the nose," I said wearily.

"Would you like me to get you a clean towel?" he asked with a brief chuckle.

"I'm alright, I can get cleaned up myself," I said, refusing to be babied, "Could you just remind me were my room is?"

"Certainly, Ms. Sweet."

He showed me to my room again, explaining the directions to me for about the sixth time. I wasn't really listening though. I just wanted to call Clark. I wanted to complain and whine and complain some more, I wanted to throw a _fit_. I'd soaked my good shirt with blood and my nose hurt. This was the time where I needed a girl to talk to. I could only talk to Clark about so much, and then I had to stop for fear of it being awkward.

I escaped into the room and cleaned up in the bathroom, scrubbing my face free of the blood.

_I bet he's just laughing it up right now, stupid, rich, prick._

With a sigh I crumpled onto the end of my bed. My eyes rolled lazily up to the nightstand. My cell phone was flickering a blue light -a new message. I groaned, my muscles already sore, and pulled myself along the sheets, too lazy to just get up and walk to it. I grabbed it and opened it up.

I was comforted to see the message was from Clark. I smiled, the first genuine one all day, and pressed the phone to my ear.

_"Hey Bells, it's me. Why haven't you called yet?"_

Such a protective figure. He was like a mother more than he was a father or a brother.

_"Hope Bruce isn't being too hard on you. Have you started training yet? Well, just call me as soon as you can. I want to know how stuff is going. And I need to talk to you…it's important."_

The tone of his voice changed. It was no longer easy-going and happy as I always knew it to be.

_"Someone…someone left something here for you. I don't know where it came from, who it came from, or how they even knew where to find you. But they left a package. I didn't open it. But it's addressed to Bella Coore."_

I had been playing with a thread on my shirt. When I heard the last part I froze, my heart flipping over a few times.

_"Well, hopefully you know more about it than I do. I'll send it over or something. Call me soon."_

I closed the phone, my heart kick starting again and hammering like a bird inside my chest. Coore was my _real_ last name, or at least that's what my real parents had let on the piece of paper they stuck to me when they left me on the streets. Clark was the only person who knew my real last name.

And…the people in the gang.


	9. Chapter 9

I didn't talk to Bruce the rest of the day. Granted, I didn't see him. But if I had, I would have given him the cold shoulder the entire time, I swear. I mean, I know I was getting mad over nothing. All the signs of him trying to "hit" on me weren't even signs. Just me being A: a girl, and B: paranoid. But I guess I was just an emotional wreck with my homesickness and embarrassed and insulted, and I stayed mad and upset all day.

The only person who made the day bearable was Alfred. While Bruce all but locked himself downstairs in –which Alfred specified- what he called the Bat Cave, Alfred and I did stuff around the house. I figured I might as well make myself useful and learn some etiquette and house keeping tips while I was at Wayne Manor. If I didn't learn anything else because I kept getting beat up by Bruce, I might as well have _something_ to show Clark when I got back. Maybe he'd be satisfied with cleaning skills.

I helped Alfred with the dishes, although he refused my help at first, insisting I was a guest. But I am a pretty persuasive person when I want to be. No…I didn't use my powers on him. I did it the old fashion way. Pleading and groveling. I was bored out of my _mind_, and Clark hadn't been answering my million phone calls, or returned the messages I'd left him about my mystery deliverer. So I whined and pleaded and all but got on my knees –Alfred finally agreed to let me help.

We started with the dishes, making small talk –How did I like Gotham? Was I homesick? Was my room comfortable? Had I been sleeping well?...Did he always clean around the house? Did he clean the bat cave? Was he a good cook? Could I help with dinner some time? Where did he get his accent from? Then as we moved from the dishes to dusting the old heirlooms that were probably worth more than me, our conversations deepened. I asked the question, how was he related to Bruce? I detected such a father-son relationship between the two of them, but I wasn't sure from where.

With that one simple question, I got the entire history of Bruce Wayne. It explained the huge portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne above the elaborate mantle, and the wealth of the lone and young Bruce. It also explained his somewhat…reserved personality.

He'd lost his parents at a young age…just like I had. Though his were stripped from him by Gotham's bloodthirsty violence.

At first I was jealous. Sure he lost his parents, but he got to stay in a huge mansion with everything he desired. But after a moment's thought, my outlook changed. He had been alone –save for Alfred- and was allowed to wallow in his grief and his anger. I, though left on the streets, was just that…_left_. I didn't have my parents taken from me by a gun, I didn't watch them die on the cold streets of Gotham. And I didn't go home to a huge mansion filled up with graying memories, I was welcomed into the street life and surrounded by a family. A dysfunctional, violence stained family…but one with wide open arms nonetheless.

I pained for Bruce, my anger dissolving instantly. Its stupid how emotions can be changed so quickly with just the new addition of sympathy. Like when you yell a 'Your Mom' joke and then find out the person's Mom is sick or something…you just feel like a complete asshole after. I slumped my shoulders in my guilt, bending down to the blackened fireplace inset in pearly marble, staring at my blurred reflection with a frown.

Alfred's brief synopsis of Bruce's life explained the Batman more than anything else. I wondered for what purpose Batman was created, other than to fight crime. Was Bruce fighting with revenge under his wings? Clark always taught me that revenge was the worst fuel to run your motors. Because it _eats_ at you. It doesn't make you stronger, it only destroys you because you drown yourself in it. I wondered while looking at the huge painted portrait above my head…did Batman know that? Had he been taught that rule?

I decided to stray away from Bruce's life story then, just incase he were to pop up out of no where like he was so fond of doing. I started playing I-SPY with Alfred halfway through our cleaning.

"Okay okay, my turn. I spy something green."

"Is it the vase, Ms. Sweet?"

"How the heck did you know? You cheated! You read my mind!"

We both broke up into loud laughter, a sound I guessed was unfamiliar to the walls of the manor.

Sue me, I'm a teenaged girl raised in the streets. I don't usually clean things. I have the attention span of a five year old, I really can't be held to anything accept TV, food or crime for more than an hour at a time. (Maybe that's an exaggeration, but Clark says that's how he feels about me sometimes.) Alfred humored me for a while, and after we'd played I SPY, quizzed each other on favorite animals and favorite colors and all sorts of pointless things, he finally told me I could go in the living room and watch TV while he finished.

I felt guilty but it only took a bit of his reassurance to get me in the other room. I think he enjoyed the games though, he laughed through a lot of it and his eyes were still sparkling when I darted into the cool living room. I had a slight feeling Bruce didn't have much of a childhood. Yet again, another similarity between us. We were both forced to grow up, gripped by the shoulders and dragged through what are supposed to be the best and most important years of our lives. He was forced to mature and handle grief and being on his own. And I had to grow up without a real home environment, and had survival skills thrust upon me.

We were both just a couple of poor saps, weren't we?

My point was that maybe Alfred needed a bit of childhood fun once in a while. I'm sure Bruce would threaten to shove a batarang up my ass if I ever suggested we play I SPY or if I asked him his favorite color. So if I couldn't reach out and try to force some childish stuff on _him_, I guess I could force it on Alfred. At least it made him smile.

I sank into the black leather couch in the living room, nuzzling up against the arm and picking my socked feet up. I had changed out of my sweaty, icky clothes a while ago and had gotten into a pair of green sweat pants and a yellow sweatshirt. It was almost like I was trying to force away the doom and gloom of the manor with my wardrobe.

My hair was down and kissed my cheeks with comfort, winding down across my arms and snaking across the cushions, their smoothing sounds against the leather like a lullaby. I finally felt tired from the morning's training.

I clicked on the TV and looked –dazed- through the channels. I didn't really feel like watching anything. I finally settled on _Finding Nemo_. I watched that for a little while, fading in and out of sleep. I think Alfred passed the living room, chuckling at what I was watching. But I might have been dreaming or something. Or -god forbid- it was _Bruce_ walking by and laughing at me. Hadn't I embarrassed myself enough?

Right before I fell asleep I remember thinking how much Bruce was like Gill, the dark and mysterious fish in the tank from the ocean, battle scarred and tough –showing no slack to little Nemo who'd just dropped in from the ocean after being taken from his Dad.

Was I Nemo? I'd been taken away from Clark, dropped into this…_fish tank_, with Bruce. I was little and afraid –and orange, apparently-.

Or maybe I was more like Dory.

I'm sure Clark would defend that statement.

--

Later that night, after dinner, I asked Alfred for a favor. For permission, rather. Bruce was out already on a call, so Alfred and I were the only ones in the immense manor. I was still bored to tears, and Clark had called once but I missed it, and when I tried to call back he didn't pick up. Probably out doing exactly what Bruce was doing, just in a different city.

When I had talked to Alfred about Bruce's bat cave, he told me that he had a huge super computer down there that he used to aid him in finding clues to criminal mysteries that his own detective work couldn't shovel up. This intrigued me more than the mini laboratory, the motorcycle, the little jet thing and even the Batmobile that he supposedly had down there did.

So after I helped Alfred clean up –against his orders for me to go relax- I asked him if he thought Bruce would mind if I played around on the super computer. I could see Alfred's resistance. Putting a teenager on a computer, especially a super computer filled with criminal records and most likely years of compiling facts and newspaper articles, was a dangerous gamble. But when I explained to him my reasoning, his face softened and he with a grimace he nodded.

He told me about a billion times to not touch anything else down there, and to be careful before he led me to the secret passage and escorted me down the huge stone steps into the very dark heart of Wayne Manor.

I almost ran back up. The bat cave was one of the most intimidating things I'd ever seen in my entire life. That's not an exaggeration, and I've seen some pretty scary stuff.

Alfred left me after showing me how to use the massive computer. And I was all alone in the huge, damp, dark and chilly batcave. I shuddered as I lowered myself into the plush chair and brought my knees up. I wasn't sure whether my teeth were chattering from the cold, or from the fear that was slowly picking away at my endurance. All I wanted to do was go back up into the warm manor that was kissed even in its gloom by the warm summer evening. But my mission kept my butt glued to that chair.

I was searching for the _rats de la rue_. Even a whisper of their presence and safe being would be enough to satisfy me. As my fingers started to click -warily at first as if the computer was going to come alive and eat me for trespassing- the tattoo on the inside of my lip seemed to burn. I clenched my jaw and leaned forward, determined to find a mention of them.

_Nothing_. I searched for _hours_ and came up with absolutely nothing. I searched through police reports, newspapers articles, mug shots, personal profiles –everything I could get my grubby, hungry little hands through. I searched all the names I could remember, all our old locations and hang outs. I turned up empty, a homeless child on the streets with her pockets turned inside out.

By the end of my searching my back hurt, my fingers were stiff and my eyeballs were ready to fall out of my head. The bat cave was really starting to skeeve me out as well. I was freezing cold, goose bumps perpetually raised on my tan arms that for some reason looked sickly pale under the dusty and meager light. There were freaking _bats_ everywhere too. They fluttered around me curiously, the air from their strong wings drifting over my face as if to ask, "Who are you?" The steady thrum of their flying soon turned into a lullaby, whisking over my heavy shoulders and tired eyelids.

I woke up to the sound of the Batmobile pulling in. I jerked awake and pretty much seizured my way out of Bruce's chair in fear he would come over and yell at me for sitting in it. Seizure is not an exaggeration, by the way. I spazzed out so harshly that I flopped onto the cold ground, head first –which thankfully snapped me awake- and lay there with my feet stuck in the arm hole of the chair.

I had fallen asleep face down on the keyboard of the computer. I probably had marks like keys on my face. I rubbed my forehead furiously just incase and then wiped at my mouth. I'd been drooling.

"Fantastic," I said, surprised by the throaty and groggy growl of my voice.

I struggled to pull my feet from the death trap of a chair and then scrambled up. I hung on the back of the chair trying to keep my balance and looked out into the darkness. Bruce still hadn't emerged from the car. I squinted.

"Hullo?" I croaked.

My heart hammered in my chest, but I bravely made my way over to the Batmobile. I strayed away from the edge of the rock faces, seeing as how there was deep, never ending abyss below us. I kept my shaking legs in a straight path towards the purring Batmobile, my step wary but quickening.

"Bruce?"

Right when I stepped over to the side of the vehicle the top of it slid back with a loud hissing sound. I jumped, but thankfully my breath got caught and I couldn't scream. There was a low groan from the dark depths of the car and I inched closer. Bruce was folded over, one hand clutched to his side and the other trying fervently to rip off his mask.

"What happened?" I asked, moving closer.

"Where's Alfred?" he ignored my question, his voice tight with pain.

Without even warning me to move he swung open the door. If I had been standing any closer I would have been flying off the platform. I backed up quickly as he got out and closed the door behind him. I watched him curiously but then moved so I was beside him.

"I told him to go to bed," I said sheepishly. I had told Alfred I could handle anything when Bruce came back. But I hadn't expected the great big Bat to get _hurt_. Wasn't he indestructible?

Bruce grunted in a reply, and then staggered, ready to fall over against the hood of the car. I took one long stride towards him and wrapped my little arm around his strong waist and tried to keep him up. I took a quick side glance at him. His mask was off then, and his face was twisted up with pain. Blood swam down the side of his face from a wound over his temple, the dark scarlet color staining the pale flesh of his smooth lips and dribbling down his chin.

When I looked down to his side that he had been clutching, I saw four gashes that had torn through the tough material of his costume. Along his ribs were deep slices that oozed blood down his side, and when he grabbed my side to aid me in keeping him up, the warm color smeared over my sweat shirt. I could smell his heat as he leaned against me, my legs shaking with his weight.

His short breaths pleaded at my ear for rest. His body was tired, I could feel it.

"Chair," he hissed.

I nodded, obedient. While I shuffled him over to the chair, I couldn't take my eyes off his side where the blood that was falling in heavy, solemn droplets crashed to the stone floor and splattered and disappeared from sight in the darkness. Fear gripped me. I finally realized how dangerous the life I tip-toed around in actually was. Here was this man, unscathed by whatever the world through at him, stronger than three men put together, brilliant, cunning –and here he was bleeding all over the floor and leaning against little old me for help. This was what the world did to people who spent their lives fighting for good.

What was I getting myself into? Did I really expect to survive? I had done it with Clark for so long, but that was because he never let me get hurt. He couldn't stand to see me the way he had found me that one night. He protected me from everything. Sure I fought next to him, but if I really thought about it –I really had always fought _behind_ him. Who was I to call myself a super hero? I'd never bled over another person after trying to do good, I'd never pulled all nighters trying to solve a murder…I was no superhero. I wasn't strong enough. Who was I kidding?

I was just former scum of Metropolis, and about to be current road kill of Gotham.

I helped Bruce to the chair. Immediately after he settled into it he started clicking away at the computer, though his face shimmered with sweat from the strain of the wounds. I know I left what I had been searching through on the computer, I hadn't had time to close out of the records that I'd been filtering through before I'd woken up. But he didn't ask any questions. He didn't ask what I was looking for, and he didn't ask why I was down in the bat cave.

"Can I clean that up?" I asked after I'd given him a few seconds of silence and made sure he was alright on his own, "I'm an expert with flesh wounds."

It was true, my days on the streets put a lot of those kinds of things on my plate. But I gave a nervous laugh to try and humor him. He didn't smile. He didn't even look at me. He just kept typing. I didn't dare look at what he was searching for, fearing he'd snap at me and tell me to get out and mind my own business.

I stood, looking around and trying to control my out of control heart beat. There was a first aid kit left on the bottom of the stairs. I vaguely remembered Alfred carrying it down before I told him that I could handle it by myself. I retrieved it and then came cautiously back to Bruce, like a bird unsure of whether to take bread from the foreign hand outstretched to it. He didn't move away from me. He still wouldn't acknowledge me.

So I sat Indian style on the floor next to him. I was just tall enough to be able to work on his side without having to reach very far. I tore off my sweatshirt after finding nothing to clean up the blood that poured down his side and started to gently dab at the ever-flowing current of scarlet. Bruce finally looked down, his glance almost annoyed that I would do something like that, but he said nothing and turned back to the screen again.

I worked steadily, tossing my sweatshirt to the side and then taking a cotton ball, dabbing it with some of the disinfectant. Once the blood was somewhat cleared, I could somewhat see the extent of his injuries. He must have fallen on something or skidded over something, the lacerations in his side were rough and jagged, not blade wounds. Thankfully they weren't too deep, there were still layers of skin yet to be punctured. I had seen some injuries were the cuts went white because they were right down to the fat.

Thankfully I wasn't very squeamish, wiping the disinfectant through the skin. I felt his side tighten under my hands, but when I looked to his face to see how badly I was hurting him, it was a stone façade of blank emotion. If it were me I'd be screaming like a baby, no lie. His cuts were pretty deep, and the disinfectant was so strong it was hurting my eyes.

Once I finished cleaning I tore long strips of bandage with my teeth. I ripped open his shirt a bit where the frayed edges easily gave way to my fingers and then pressed gauze to his wounds. Then I placed the white tape gingerly over the mesh material. Working there next to him, his blood staining my hands, crusting under my nails, and his heat crawling up my arms and warming my formerly ice cold body –I somehow felt happy. Sure it was a freakin' morbid time to feel happy, but I sensed a somewhat calm air between the two of us. I was no longer angry, whether it was spur of the moment and seeing him hurt, or if it was with the knowledge Alfred had supplied me with before.

And I don't think he minded me tending to his wounds. I'm sure he wasn't dandy with it, but he wasn't being mean to me as I bandaged his side up. His eyes were trained on the computer and didn't say more than two things to me, but there was something changing in our relationship. I couldn't put my finger on it then, but I think now that I look back, I think that was the moment where we ceased being strangers to each other.

We weren't friends, but we were no longer unfamiliar. And that was a good feeling.


	10. Chapter 10

The days passed slowly for me after that night. I was pretty much on house arrest. I wasn't allowed to go out and explore- yet again I was protecting aliases. Maybe no one in Gotham would ever make the connection between Bruce, Clark and I. But there was always an off chance that someone would put all the pieces together and figure out who we really were. And Bruce said he wasn't going to take me out on any crime watch until I had at least a week of training under my belt. So I was stuck.

I called Clark maybe two times. I got a hold of him one of those times, but he could only talk for so long. And I had so much to tell him I completely blanked on my mystery package. So that mystery kept picking at me long after I put the phone down. It was really the only thing I had to keep from completely loosing my mind with boredom. That, and Bruce's training sessions. I was sore all week. Pathetic, right?

But there was good news. Bruce and I were getting closer. I don't mean in a romantic way, or even in a friendly way. We weren't hugging each other, joking much, or even really speaking a lot outside of the tiny gym.

But there was no longer a wall between us, no awkward glances, no uncomfortable small talk if we had any. The wall was down, I guessed by the "bulldozer" act when I helped him when he came home hurt that one night (he never did tell me how he got hurt). So with the wall down, we were both free to do what we wanted. Either one could cross over into the other's territory to converse and grow closer, but we both hung back to our own lines, gazing at each other with respect. Maybe that was it, respect.

Not friends, just two people who respected each other? I found it hard to believe someone like Bruce would have any reason to respect me, but I held to my theory since I could think of no other answer to our amiable attitude to one another.

I was much closer to Alfred than I was Bruce, but that wasn't hard to explain. Alfred just had a magnetic personality, the grandfather I always wanted, and the father figure I never got(with the exception of those few times when Clark had his tights on too tight and he decided he was going to try to be a parent to me). Needless to say those few times weren't successful. He was always best as the protective older brother, not a Dad.

So Alfred filled my little void. He was fun and energetic despite his age, and after just a week I was already confiding in him when I was thinking about something, whether it be serious or not. Thursday morning, it was something not so serious.

"Alfred?"

I had pulled him aside when I started to leave after breakfast. Bruce and I were going to train but something had been bugging me the entire night before.

"How can I help you, Ms. Sweet?" he said with his characteristic smile. Although I'd told him time and time again to call me Bella, he still remained defiant.

"I have a favor to ask," I said, probably looking more mischievous than he was comfortable with.

He raised an eyebrow at me while fixing the cuff of his suit, a twitch of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes slowly drifted to mine.

"Oh? And what kind of favor would that be?"

I paused, looking to the floor. Then with a huge intake of breath, "Will you let me make dessert tonight?" I blurted out.

I think he was a bit taken aback by my request. He had probably been expecting something more…_sinister_. He threw back his head and laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked, laughing a bit myself and placing my hands on my hips.

"You just look so…frightened, for my answer!" he exclaimed, "Of course you may!"

I bounced up and down on my toes excitedly.

"All _right!_ Well I need you to pick up some stuff. I looked through the kitchen already and there isn't much of what I need," I said, still bouncing.

I placed a list in his hand and he chuckled at me, nodding.

"Whatever you wish, Ms. Sweet."

"Bella?" Bruce poked his head in through the threshold from out in the hallway. He looked at me curiously.

"Thanks Alfred!" I said, leaning forward and giving him a quick squeeze before darting after Bruce.

So that night after dinner I ran into the kitchen. Alfred was waiting for me, all the things I had asked for laid out on the expensive stone countertop. Marshmallows, chocolate, butter, sugar, powdered sugar- the works.

"What ever you are preparing does not look like health food," Alfred joked.

"Is there such thing as healthy desert?" I asked him, whisking over to the counter and counting off the ingredients.

"Well, there is…"

"That tastes good?" I interrupted him.

He just chuckled at me again and leaned back against the counter, abandoning the dishes from dinner that he was cleaning. I wiped my hands on the baggy grey sweat pants I wore –they were actually Clark's, and they only stayed up on me because I bunched the excess fabric at my butt and tied it with a hair tie- and heaved a sigh.

"Hey Alfred?"

He looked at me, the smile still present on his lips. I darted back and forth inside my mind, wondering if I even dare ask the sudden question that had rolled from my head and on top the tip of my tongue.

"Do…do you think…_he_ would want to help?" I laughed at myself. How stupid did I sound?

Bruce had escaped to the living room. He was slowly healing, but I could tell it was hard for him to move around and do the things he was accustomed to doing. The training the last few days had been him watching me beat the shit out of a punching bag and then critiquing me. It was probably killing him to just sit around and do nothing productive for more than an hour. I figured maybe it could be another step closer to us being friendlier to each other, and maybe it would brighten his mood.

I don't know _why_ I thought he'd even go for it, but it was just a spur of the moment idea. To my surprise, instead of laughing at me, Alfred popped his shoulders in a shrug.

"Master Bruce? I'm sure it would not hurt to ask him."

That was all the encouragement I needed. With a big stupid grin plastered across my face, and for some reason not very nervous about confronting the devilishly handsome figure on the couch, I ran out of the kitchen, into the living room and approached Bruce.

"Hey," I said, trying not to look directly at him because his eyes had funny ways of messing with my ability to speak without a stutter.

He looked up from the TV. He was not pleased to see me, but he wasn't unhappy to see me either. His face was merely on the verge of being pleasant.

"Hey," he said, his deep voice rumbled in his strong chest.

"Um…"I said, already loosing my footing on the confidence I'd come riding in on, "I have a question."

He nodded at me, his eyes waiting for me to continue.

I shifted my weight and focused on not wringing my hair that was twisted over to one shoulder. I took a deep breath trying not to _act_ like I was about to pee my pants.

"Alfred and I are going to make desert, and I remember you told me you can't cook to save your life or something…so….I wondered if you maybe, possibly wanted to come and join us?"

My try to remain cool and collected failed. Crashed and burned, is more like it. The entire sentence came out in like one breath and I tripped over a few words here and there. I knew my cheeks were probably dark red. It wasn't just talking to him that made me nervous. It was the weird request I was presenting to him. Why in a million years would he ever want to come cook _brownies_? I'm not sure if it's just me, but I just don't picture the man who dons the Batman costume would ever be caught making brownies.

But, suddenly…he _smiled_. It was a teeny as hell smile, but it was most definitely one. And then as if that wasn't surprise enough, the next words that came out of his mouth where not ones of teasing or ice.

"In a minute."

It took everything in me not to skip merrily back to the kitchen with my victory. I just smiled sweetly at him, resisting another urge to tackle him in a bear hug for being so nice, and made my way back into the kitchen. I gave Alfred the thumbs up when I returned. His eyes sparkled.

"Success?" he asked

"He said he'll come in a minute."

"Wonderful," he said, seeming genuinely happy. Maybe he wanted to see Bruce in a better mood as well, "Now, can you tell me what you're going to make?"

I grinned, setting out the ingredients as Alfred finished drying the few dishes he had done while I was out talking to Bruce. He grabbed a few mixing bowls from an ancient and beautiful mahogany cupboard above the elaborate sink, setting them down at my right.

"Special brownies," I said, but then shook the bag of marshmallows at him, "But I like to call it _Heart Attack in a Pan_. All in all, four sticks of butter and four cups of sugar."

"My goodness," Alfred said, glancing at the ingredients.

While I was getting the ingredients opened and measured, I asked Alfred if we could have music. I had spotted a little boom box on the windowsill right when I came in. I'm a teenager… and not able to withstand the pull that the promise of music has on my generation. When in doubt, play music.

Alfred complied kindly to my request while helping out by compiling all the things I needed. I reached over in excitement -thankful my hands weren't messy yet- and switched to a station. The thrum of a bass suddenly shook the speakers. I recognized the song immediately and turned around to Alfred, my mouth wide open.

I wasn't entirely sure why I felt so comfortable with him already. It hadn't been _that_ long, to be so goofy and…_teenager-y_ around him. But he never looked at me strangely, maybe that's why. He seemed to accept me, which was something I loved with every fiber of my being.

I wasn't afraid of being weird around him.

So, I'm not a fan of Miley Cyrus. Really, I'm not. I'm more of a Beatles girl myself, and I enjoy metal from time to time. Which is almost a polar opposite to the young pop star whose voice was now streaming through the kitchen. Her voice drifted over my bones and made them twitch a bit.

No, I really don't like her. But I knew all the words to that one particular song.

I mouthed along, taking the bag of marshmallows and holding it to my face like a microphone.

_I got my sight set on you, and I'm ready to wait. I have a heart that will never be tamed. _Hmm, sound like the story of my life at the moment? Slightly. Now that is really, _really_ pathetic.

Nonetheless, my butt started to shake a bit to the beat. Then my arms started. I tossed the bag of marshmallows back to the counter, my head starting to swing side to side with the heavy beat that I could feel thumping in my chest.

Then the legs came in. And that's when it gets dangerous. I really can't dance. I have like four thousand left feet and they trip me every change they get. I have no rhythm whatsoever, I sort of just flail around and hope no one will call an ambulance.

I didn't stop. Bobbing lightly to the beat and rolling my limbs to the slow tempo. Then the chorus gave a lead in note.

"Here it comes!" I cried, laughing over the music, "C'mon Alfred!"

I jumped in the air and then started wriggling around, trying to keep to some kind of tempo. I shook my head when I finally found a way to follow the pulsing beat, my long hair spinning out from my head and tangling in front of my face. All I saw for the entire chorus as I screamed the words, uncaring of my current love interest in the room just a few feet away, was thick, blackberry hair.

"THE LAST TIME I FREAKED OUT, I JUST KEPT LOOKIN' DOWN, I STU-STU-STUTTERED WHEN YOU ASKED ME WHAT I'M THINKIN' 'BOUT!"

Even above the pounding music, and my off-tune screaming lyrics, I could hear Alfred laughing. When I raised my head as the slowed down verse started, the room spun for a minute –the crime of me pretty much headbanging for the entire chorus- and then I saw Alfred.

He was _dancing_.

Reserved dancing, mind you. But he was moving his hips with the beat and popping his shoulders along with Miley's voice. I collapsed to the side of the counter in my laughter. I really couldn't stop for the life of me, and even when I retreated from the stone support to dance again I could barely hold myself up, I was still doubled over.

But the chorus came back on and I was back in it, shaking my head like a maniac –and a complete moron- and screaming the words again. I took air guitar strums as I danced around, my chest heaving with more laughter as I kept seeing out of the corner of my eye Alfred wagging his arms around in his own dance.

The song ended much too quickly. When it was over I collapsed onto the floor, laughter taking hold of me. I hadn't laughed so hard in _forever_; I couldn't remember the last time something had been so funny. I felt tears of my hysteria trailing down my hot cheeks, and I flopped backwards, holding my sides that were splitting at their usually tight seams. I felt like a little kid, but for once wasn't ashamed by it. The laughing fit felt good, especially with someone else joining in on it with me.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Alfred." Bruce's voice pierced through my happy laughter like a bullet.

I bolted up so fast I got dizzy, my eyes bolting to the threshold of the kitchen where Bruce's muscular figure leaned against the wide frame of the opening. Another smile was upon his thin mouth, a smug one.

"How much of that d-did you see, Master Bruce?" Alfred said, pushing himself off the counter where he had been supporting himself, and wiping at his eyes.

"Enough to be afraid," Bruce said, his tone slightly lighter as he crossed his way over to the tiny table near the other window. He sat himself down, trying to hide a wince by turning his face away. Once he was okay again to put on his smooth, controlled face, he turned back to us, shaking his head. It was amazing –his smile was _still_ present. It had to be a record for him.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Sir," Alfred choked, still trying to control his laughter.

That comment just sent me into another fit and I rocked back onto the floor, kicking my feet against the old tile so there was a drum roll to go along with my happy, giggling cadence. I heard Alfred start laughing again, but I couldn't hear Bruce. Did he laugh? Was it physically possible? Chickens couldn't burp…maybe Bruce couldn't laugh.

I didn't care to raise myself and look. My sides hurt too bad and I was still busy writhing around on the floor in my laughing fit.

After a minute I managed controlled myself, gasping for air and with my back still pressed to the floor. I raised myself slowly with a minor, happy, groan of pain for my aching stomach. Bruce was smirking over at Alfred who was wiping at his eyes again, his shoulders still shuddering with the last flutters of his laughter.

"Your dinner theater for tonight, Sir," Alfred said breathlessly, taking a bow.

I bowed with him from my sitting position, biting my tongue to keep the next laughing fit from escaping.

"Better than what I was watching in there," Bruce said, gesturing with his thumb towards the living room. He winked at the two of us.

I caught his eyes and gave him a smile. He smiled back, gently and habitually guarded. Then I looked over to Alfred, my eyebrow raising.

"Wait, how did you know the words?" I asked, trying to control the shake of laughter in my voice.

I heard Bruce's closed-lipped, deep chuckle come from the table.

Alfred went dark red and turned away with a shrug, "I like to…well, I like to 'keep up with the times', I suppose."

He coughed and then went to the radio, looking back at me as the announcer spoke about some up and coming concert in Gotham Park. Alfred let his hand rest on the little contraption.

"Perhaps we should turn this off, Ms. Sweet, heaven forbid something else comes up?"

But right as he went to hit the switch, another song came on. I told him to back away from the radio, and once he realized what song it was he laughed and stepped obediently back. Paralyzer, by Finger Eleven. Yet another song with lyrics that hit close to home. Alfred said he didn't know the song that well, but he danced along with me anyway.

_Well I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you. I want to make you move, because you're standing still._

When I had a pause during my crazy dancing, I stole a look at Bruce, the lyrics buzzing through my head. He had his head down, hand cupped over his forehead and his shoulder shook slightly with what I assumed to be laughter. Or maybe he was crying –I wouldn't be surprised with the way I was dancing.

He looked embarrassed to even be in our presence. He looked up, and we met smiling eyes again. I spun as quickly as it happened, continuing to dance alongside Alfred to the heavy music that was shaking the inside of the old kitchen. But I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

I was having _fun_. Something I thought I'd _never_ in a million years do in Wayne Manor. I was laughing, singing, _dancing_ –dear god, what was happening to me?- and all the while having Bruce Wayne watch me. I didn't care. I was so euphoric with the sudden happiness that I was able to find and nourish. And I felt another shift in the ladder between Bruce and me. I had taken one step closer to the thin line between us. I think he did too.

I was happier than I'd been in months and having more fun than I ever dared to. But that was only because the worst was coming. It prowled the darkened halls of the manor, breathing heavy and layering the walls in darkness to accommodate the agony that was scheduled to arrive in just seven days.

Everything was going so good that night. Little did I know, it was only the calm before the storm.


	11. Chapter 11

Seven days after the laughter and dancing was one of the worst nights in my entire life.

I was surprised how early things went bad. I'd only been with Bruce for two weeks.

Everything had been going _so_ well. I was comfortable, enjoying myself, having fun, actually learning things, and most importantly: I was _happy_. But of course fate couldn't bear to show me even a sliver of mercy. I should have been prepared for something bad to come. When things in my life are good, they usually don't last for long. Clark has been the only thing in my life that has stayed good for more than a year. Also, if things seem too good be to true –as my time with Bruce was turning out to be thus far- it's because they _are_.

That one horrible night changed me. And it all started with me being sick.

I'm not even kidding, apparently fate, or God, -whoever the hell it was- didn't think they had enough shit to throw at me that night, and decided to make me sick on top of it. I think it might have been all my late hours in the damp, arctic cold of the bat cave. Whether it was because I was waiting for Bruce to come back from the latest crime scene, or spending hours on end searching fruitlessly for _la rats de la rue._

That morning I woke up with a 101 fever (bearable, but I still felt like dying) and one of those disgusting chest coughs that made me sound like a dying seal. Sexy, right? I ached all over and kept stripping off layers and then putting them back on. My throat and chest were on fire. And with all this I still demanded to go with Bruce to handle the drug bust –the biggest "mission" I'd ever been on with him.

Bruce had started –finally- taking me out on calls three nights prior. I'd been doing well enough considering the sparse training I'd received. Bruce didn't give out many compliments, no surprise there, but his eyes were easy enough to read when he was satisfied with my work. I hadn't messed up yet, so maybe I went into the big drug bust at the pier too cockily. No one had ever hurt me when I was fighting with Clark. And no one had gotten the chance to with Bruce either. So maybe I walked up, deluded into thinking I was invincible. Or rather, that no one really _wanted_ to hurt me. My revelation from the night Bruce came home all torn up had faded away.

Once again I had no idea what I was going into; I had no idea what I was going up against. And this time, it cost me.

It was too cold outside. It was the end of the summer but the thick breeze that blew up my hair belonged to December. I wrapped my arms around myself, regretting my costume design with the open chest and exposed abdomen immediately. A shudder ran through me as I stepped reluctantly from the Batmobile that Bruce had parked in the shadows, but sweat broke out along my forehead.

Bruce started walking. His limbs rolled with such raw power, shoulders forward ready to charge, arms swaying forcefully, and his cape swirling dangerously behind him. Yet as he walked, he didn't make a sound.

I allowed myself one last hard cough before I was going to have to be quiet to keep our cover and hurried to catch up with him. I fell into step with him, a small kitten following warily beside the regal tiger. Another breeze, filled with the Gotham River's thick scent, raised goose bumps across my arms and stomach.

We walked a ways, and came from the shadows, but always hugged close to the buildings along the pier. The slow chug of the river flowing several hundred feet in front of us, and about twenty below from the dock, didn't do anything to mollify me. If anything the sound was a gruesome one. The surge of the current seemed to whisper of what was to come, and I was frustrated and a bit frightened because I didn't understand the message.

As we were walking, closer to the end of the dock, Bruce held up his arm. I walked right into it, stopped, and then looked at him confused. He wasn't paying me any attention. He was listening, I could tell by the tilt of his head, even though it was masked. And when I started to listen, I realized why he stopped.

Voices. Angry tones and harsh screaming. There was definitely something going on. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. Then, from out of nowhere…

_BANG!_

I ducked out of habit at the sudden, resounding bang of the shot. Bruce's instincts were just as quick as mine and he crouched next to me, swinging his arm up to shield both of us with his cape. We both figured we were being shot at. But the gunfire continued, the two people firing never shot in our direction. We hadn't been seen, and we weren't the ones being targeted.

Bruce stood up abruptly, his cape falling back to him. I stood with him and took the opportunity with all the noise to send a few "seal" coughs into my elbow while he started for the commotion. After shaking my head of the fuzziness from the coughing, I jogged up after him. My body was cooking itself, I could feel it. I considered asking if I could just go sit in the Batmobile while he finished his work.

I know that sounds really shitty of me, but he lasted well enough on his own a _long_ time before I got there. He brought me along to be courteous, and to train me. He didn't really need my help. I _should_ have asked him. I could have avoided the entire situation if I had just been brave enough to open my damn mouth, and gone back like the wimp I was and sat in the Batmobile.

We came upon the fight too quickly. I hadn't had time to mentally prepare myself for the danger I was about to be in…without Clark. I gathered there were two groups, one by a dark brick building and the others in front of us, backs towards the massive dock. I assumed some conflict had risen up over picking up the drugs from the port between the two systems, or there was conflict in the group itself.

But there wasn't time to dwell on what the deep meaning of the fight was. There was one angry gunman standing close to us, and then it seemed the other shots were coming from the roof of the brick building. I looked around. No one had been actually hit yet, either the both the gunmen had horrible aim, or they just wanted to play chicken with each other.

Bruce was gone in an instant. He shot a grappling hook up to the roof of the building and then was lost in the hungry arms of the shadows. The clouds were too thick for the stars to permeate, and even the moon couldn't kiss the ground with her light –the only aid we got were the street lamps dimly lit and flickering around the edges of the pier.

Shots started to echo off the roof. My body tightened.

_He can take care of himself. Get the other gun._

I ran for the guy with the gun, who was trying to control his group who were set into a frenzy by the arrival of the Bat. It was actually perfect timing for me; their heads were all turned to the rooftop. I had easy access to the man.

I could have ripped off my glove and told him to drop the gun, but that would be cheating by Bruce's standards. He was trying to train me to be able to fight without my hands, just for those occasions that something happened where I was left without them. That was the whole point.

The gunman's arm was up, leaving his ribs open. So with grim amusement I stepped up and round house kicked him. I was surprised at my own strength. The man, though much bigger than me, was caught off guard so he went crashing to the ground. His gun spun away from his startled fingers. The rest of the group noticed me then. This was where I needed to remember my training more than ever –I'd never had so many people on me at one time.

"You wouldn't hit a girl, would you?" I asked, trying to play every card I had to get to the gun first.

I slowly inched towards it, watching the three shadows of the men hesitate. By the looks of their stance and bulk, I think the answer to my question would be a unanimous yes. Yes, yes they would. And no sooner than I'd figured this out for myself one of them threw a punch. I raised my arm to block it, my training almost muscle memory.

I heard a scream from the rooftop, and it was definitely too girly and terrified to be Bruce's. The other gunman was down. But there were more voices mixed in, and when I got a chance to look over to where the opposing group had been I found they had disappeared. Probably to get to the roof along with their buddy and try to bring down Batman.

So Bruce and I both had our hands full.

I grabbed one of the guys' that was attacking me, my hand curled harshly around his shoulder. I dragged him down, using all the strength I had, and brought my knee up into his gut. I could feel the hot burst of air that spurted out from his mouth on my chest.

I felt pretty awesome. I was kickin' _ass! _Sort of. It felt like I was. I wouldn't be so bold as to say I had fun, but I wasn't _not_ enjoying myself as I watched one of the burly men fall over onto his side with a moan. I was actually fighting _without_ my powers. Clark, and maybe Bruce, would be proud.

But the tables flipped quickly. The moment that changed that night, and my life, happened really fast. The man who had first had the gun was screaming something. Through the scuffle I couldn't hear him at first. Then, he repeated his demand.

"Johnny! Get the gun!"

Just as he said this the police arrived. One thing I learned about working with Bruce: he was _always_ there before the police were. The sirens drowned out the man's screaming again and for a moment I was lost and whirling in a sea of angry, flashing red and blue light. This moment of confusion got me rammed into the hefty chest of the same man I'd driven my knee into. He hit me with such force that my smaller body went flying back like a slingshot. I hit the ground on my elbows, lightheaded.

_The gun._

Remembering in sudden panic, I turned my head. "Johnny" already had the gun.

"I see the Bat!" he yelled –his voice higher than I expected- and he aimed for the rooftop.

"Put down the gun!" came a voice from a megaphone over by the growing police squad.

There was a pause in the action.

The sudden blast from over my head was ear piercing. It jarred my entire body with fear, because I knew what was coming next.

Gunfire from the police cars started to fly over us. Thankfully I was still on the ground. I saw the man I kicked before pitch forward with a cry, his shoulder coming forward spasmodically at the power of a bullet.

Fear spiked inside my body. This was getting out of hand.

My heart was out of control, I could feel the galloping pulse in every part of my body. My lips, my eyes, my fingertips, my stomach –the sound flooded my ears. Thinking as fast as I could, I pounced up from the ground. I threw myself at the man with the gun.

My weight was enough to send us crashing to aging wood of the dock. I pinned his arms down above his head while his group was distracted by the bullets raining over them. So I wouldn't loosen up my grip on him, even though he writhed under me, I bent my head to my hand and tried to rip my glove off with my teeth.

Fuck the training, it was either use my powers or have more people get shot.

I looked down at the man under me. I saw his face clearly under the street lamp. An icy realization took hold of my feverish body. It was not a man at all. It was a _kid_. Probably 15 or 16 years old.

His eyes struck a nerve in me. They looked up at me and my masked face, with my hair probably blowing up around me like Medusa, and they were _afraid_. Big, round, innocent eyes were afraid of what was going to happen.

He didn't really want to hurt anyone. I could see it in his face that still sported a boyish mouth, though his chin was strong with adolescence. I hesitated. And in those few seconds where I did, I found I was looking down at myself two years ago.

I stared up at myself with frightened, gold eyes, my chest heaved with panicked breaths. My hair was tangled and dirty, my face dappled with bruises and cuts. My mouth was stretched into a tight line of defense –let nothing in, and nothing out- and my face was sunken and ghostly. I gave an agonized sob under myself, writhing frantically like a worm.

The walls in my eyes shattered, and innocence shone through like some heartbreaking sunrise. I was just a kid. I didn't know what I was doing. I was brought _up_ in violence and hate, not made of it.

Images of me holding up guns to people's temples, using my powers to accept wads of money, plastic bags filled with drugs, food, breaking into stores, shoving the weak away and taking spoils for myself, blood pouring from my mouth, black and blue –a gruesome collage fanned inside my head.

My own face suddenly faded from under me, and my gold eyes turned into the green ones of the boy's again. His face now stared back at me. The innocence I had seen walled right back up.

I had only hesitated for a few seconds. But that was all it took for him to catch me off guard and shove me violently off of him. I watched in agony as he sat up and fired at the police men who were slowly making their way over. I watched as if it were in slow motion.

One of the officers, a friend, a husband, a father, maybe a brother, bent forward with a loud scream of pain that I will never, _ever_ forget. His wounded leg buckled and he crashed to the ground. His fellow officers surrounded him, screaming orders as panic and gunshots filled the atmosphere again.

Then, there was a whizzing sound. The young boy who had fired the shot –who sat dumbfounded after seeing he'd actually hit someone- gave a cry and wrenched his hand back from open air. The gun flew past me and landed several feet away, a sharp batarang sticking in its side.

Everything started going in fast forward again. It was too quick to process. One minute I was sitting on the ground, coughing a lung and trying to control my frenzied breathing that was about to turn into a scream, and the next I was in a choke hold by the big man who originally had the gun. He tugged me up from the ground, my neck and shoulders protesting, and I leaned back against him. One of his arms wrapped around my waist, binding my arms on a lucky move, and the other held me at my throat.

The cold press of a blade grazed the bottom of my jaw.

"Don't shoot!" he screamed, his voice was rough and too loud against my ear, "I'll kill her! I swear I will!"

Bruce dropped from the rooftop, his cape settling down behind him. I was too afraid of my situation to be embarrassed. He advanced, cautiously, but firmly towards us.

"Stay away from me, man!" the man behind me screamed, and then to prove he was serious he pressed the blade a little harder against the warm, fevered flesh of my neck.

I groaned in the pain, clenching my teeth. He drew a line from the back of my jaw to the bottom of my chin. Hot blood streamed from the wound, moving like a snake over my throat and running smooth across my collar bone. My breath caught.

Bruce slowed his pace, but kept coming towards us.

Before I knew it we were backing up. The man was pretty much dragging me along since I couldn't get a footing under me. I just stayed there like some stupid, helpless doll, wishing so badly Clark would just swoop in and fix everything. I was growing dizzy. I wasn't sure if my temperature was getting higher, or if it was the fear that was causing my vertigo.

We neared the end of the dock. The man who held me had his back pressed against the wooden railings, and I could hear the rampant flow of the river below us.

"Let her go," Bruce said calmly, still advancing. I could feel the man's chest rising and falling quicker and quicker, his heart beat was frenzied at my shoulder blade.

In one swift motion, and one damn fast decision, the man picked my tired body up and hurled me over the side of the dock. It happened so fast I didn't even know what was going on until I saw my feet rise above me. He literally _threw_ me into the river. Just tossed me over like nothing. I don't know how he thought that was going to make his problem any better, but I was no longer concerned with him.

I was concerned with nothing as I fell, it was so peaceful. I didn't even feel the cold of the wind as it whipped at my hair and my clothes. I saw Bruce come up to the edge of the dock, bracing himself on the edge and looking down at me as I fell. That was the last thing I saw.

Then the outside world disappeared. The sounds of the traffic, the wind, and the clinking bells of the boats tied up –they were all lost as the raging waters of the river swallowed me. The cold shocked my body, and before I even had time to try and swim for the surface –whichever direction the surface was- a surge of the ice cold water hit me like a brick wall. I spun out of control with no sense of direction, a dancing puppet to the surprisingly strong current of the river.

I flipped and spun, all the while being tugged down stream, away from the pier, away from Bruce, away from any help at all. Superman could not just come in and drag me out of the violent waters. I was on my own.

I hit something hard. It was either the bank or a rock, but my entire left side crushed against it. The last of my air was knocked from my lungs and released in a terrified explosion of bubbles. Then the current had me again and I spun away from whatever I had just hit. I was going to have to breathe soon; I could feel the sudden _need_…like an impossible itch deep inside my lungs rising.

The water pushed and pulled at me, like two little girls fighting over a doll. Wrenching at my weakened arms, tugging on my body as if I would stretch. All I could hear was the ear shattering gushing of the water as I was hauled along. It was like the river had it's own heart beat, and it was beating the rhythm into my body mercilessly.

I needed air. I needed to breathe. I was getting close to the end. So with a burst of intellect I flung my arms out against the current, my hands fighting in the turmoil, grabbing for anything.

_Air….air…_

Just as the need became unbearable, I found rescue. My right hand brushed against something and I grabbed hold. It was the chain of an anchorage. I could feel the links between my frozen fingers. I kicked as hard as I could, even with the shooting pain of every part of my left side, just able to see the shadow of the sail boat over my head when I pried open my eyes in the grimy waters. I'd been pulled as far as the marina.

I kicked and kicked and kicked, wondering if the surface would ever come. I felt as though my chest was caving in, my lungs shriveling up with no strength left to cry out for air. My vision spun, my head pounded, and the water tried to push my flimsy grip away from the chain. I was loosing the battle. My fingers loosened, and my lungs begged me to just open my mouth and let _something_ in.

I was about to give up when cool night air kissed my forehead.

I broke the surface with an enraged, wild breath. I gasped and sputtered, holding onto the anchor line with all the strength I had left in me. It seemed as though I couldn't get enough air. I took one greedy breath after another, filling my lungs to the brim and then emptying them in a fit of coughs.

The dock was only a few feet away from me. I took another huge breath. I was frantic to get out of the water even though I was dying of exhaustion. I pushed myself away from the line and kicked with all my might to the dock. I made it and managed to halfway pull myself onto it. I had one leg and one arm over the side, but I was panting and coughing too hard to get the other half –my hurt half- up and out of the water.

I lay there for who knows how long, the current letting my loose arm and leg float around as the water brushed up against my side. My dry side was quickly getting colder and colder, thanks to the breeze that had picked up. But I was so tired; all I wanted to do was sleep it away. At that point I didn't really care if I slipped back into the water or not. I just didn't want to be conscious anymore.

My body was suddenly lifted all the way out of the water. Someone rolled me onto my back on the dock, a shadow combing over my body. I didn't have to look. I knew who it was. Bruce gathered me into his arms which felt like the warmest, most welcoming things on the entire planet at that point, and I folded into his grip like a crumpled piece of paper. He tugged his cape around me just as the sirens of a few police cars came up in the parking lot over the dock.

I started coughing then, thick, hard coughs that wracked my entire body. Each one grazed the base of my throat, as if I were dragging rough ice cubes up and down my esophagus. My chest burned. I'm sure being dumped into a cold river and almost drowned does wonders for a chest cold.

I struggled to get a breath as Bruce tightened his grip on me, his arms pressing with warmth under my knees and across my back. He started running, lithe in his step, off the dock and into the parking lot where the shadows took hold of us. He ran for a bit before arriving at the Batmobile that was now parked back behind the marina office. The doors slid open with a hiss and Bruce lowered me gingerly into the passenger seat. I could feel the warmth of my blood on my left side, though I couldn't pinpoint any specific point of pain. I faded and I drifted, only breaking my paper-thin sleep to cough violently. Once my coughing was done I would slip back into "sleep", only to start again minutes later.

This happened all the way to the Batcave. We arrived quicker than I expected, but I was not complaining about the urgency. My eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, I could barely get them open to see the hood sliding back from over us. I rolled them to the side, seeing Bruce hop out, cape swirling with him. He came over to my side and slid his arms under my body, hoisting me up like a child.

There was no warmth in his arms this time, they were like ice. Cold, quiet fury that chilled me more than the river had. He pulled me out of the car.

"Sir?" I heard Alfred come up to us, but I didn't see him. My head rested on the hard material that covered the chest of Bruce's costume. His emblem brushed my dark, fever-flushed cheeks.

"She's hurt," Bruce said, his tone sharp and insultingly unemotional. Guess I was just chopped liver. He sounded like he didn't give a shit.

"I'm fine," I croaked, my throat raw and ravaged, "Put me down."

Bruce set me on my feet. He didn't even wait to see if I could stand on my own. He strode briskly to the computer. Turned out I couldn't stand well enough just yet, and if it wasn't for Alfred darting forward to support me I would have landed on my ass. Bruce disappeared for a second and came back with a towel. He threw it at Alfred, for me, and refused to look at either of us. There was some aurora of rage emanating from him. It annoyed me more than it scared me.

Alfred led me over to the lab table and cleared away empty vials and sheets of paper so I could lean against it. He then draped the towel over my shuddering shoulders. Water dripped from my thick hair, which felt ten times heavier, weighing my aching neck down. My body was shaking with cold, but I wanted to strip everything off right then and there. I was so warm, even the chill of the Batcave ceased to penetrate my fever.

Once I was sure I could lean on my own, I looked over at Bruce. He was sitting in his chair, typing away at the computer. He stopped when Alfred had silenced and given me the towel. Everything was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke. He didn't turn around, but I could tell from the tightness in his voice that he was furious. I didn't need his face to tell me that. He pulled his mask back before speaking.

"I'll call Clark in the morning."

I stiffened indignantly, though my side screamed at me in pain as I did so.

"What?" I asked, my voice still hoarse and weak.

He turned his head over his shoulder and glared at me, his bright blue eyes hardening like glass. His brow furrowed, heavy with all the things I'm sure he wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to. Through clenched teeth he answered.

"You're obviously not ready for this."

I bristled, anger welling inside me all of a sudden. Why did _one_ mistake matter? Sure I messed up, but that shouldn't have made him totally want to drop the cause and send me back!

"That's not fair!" I said, my voice cracking and loosing its venom, "I made_ one_ mistake!"

"You hesitated and it got someone hurt," he hissed.

"I _choked_! Jesus, I'm _sorry_."

I glanced at Alfred quickly; he looked uncomfortable with the situation. His eyes had lost their brightness, and they darted uneasily between Bruce and me. I could feel the rising tension as well as he could, but it didn't unsettle me. It only made me angrier.

Bruce came from his chair in one swift motion, standing now with his shoulders squared in his rage.

"And your "choke" got an innocent person _shot_!" his voice grew louder. I'd never heard him angry; it was so strange to see him anything but unemotional and here his voice anything above a monotone.

He continued. "He might never _walk_ again, Bella. Because you 'choked."

My strong stance softened. He had just tapped into one of my greatest fears. The fear that kept me up at night with nightmares from my past and what could have been my future. I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it. Bruce took my silence as an advantage.

"It's not that you made a mistake," he said, his voice settling back into a monotone, but his eyes never lost their fury, "It's how _oblivious_ you are. You have no idea what you're doing, you don't realize the danger. Superman is not going to be there to save you every time. And no one is going to have mercy for you just because you're young. They only had mercy for you before because _Superman_ was with you. The criminal world is bloodthirsty. And you don't seem to get that."

"I do," I argued weakly, feeling my eyes heat up with tears.

Yeah, I lied when I said I don't cry. There _are_ those few exceptions. And this was one of them.

"You don't," Bruce said, his even, icy tone more frightening than his yelling, "Even though he had a gun and there were innocent people, you let that kid go."

"But…but he…I saw," I tried to explain my reasoning, but my words tripped and bumped into one another. I couldn't get a sentence out.

Bruce ignored my babbling, "You let him go, and now someone might not ever walk again. You weren't strong enough to do something without your security behind you. So I think you have to grow up and maybe we can try again in a few years."

His eyes never left mine, hard as diamonds. I caved, I looked away first.

I wasn't as sad about being told I wouldn't be training with him anymore, as I was about the policeman.

Ever since I first discovered my powers, I've nurtured and cradled my biggest fear: hurting someone because of my power. That possibility has scared me for _years_. Whether it be by accident that I harm someone, or my fear of succumbing to the villainy that I was so sure I was headed for and hurting on _purpose_ –either scenario scared me senseless. I think that basic fear is the product of a deeper, underlying fear. Evil.

Ever since Clark found me, I've been petrified of returning to my old ways. As if someone could turn a switch inside me and convert me to vice. I never want to hurt _anyone_ with a gift that I was given. It would be wrong, evil, disgusting –things I'd prefer not to be. I tried so hard every day to keep my thoughts focused on the good, never once leaning my head toward the tempting song that the bad side was singing to me. Clark told me I'm a better person, and I couldn't kill someone if I tried.

But if I ever got crazy enough…I could. And _that's_ where the fear comes from.

And I'd gone and hurt someone. Not with my powers –my lack of powers, rather- and definitely not intentionally. But it still hit that deep, dark egg of fear that was perpetually nestled in my chest. It hit the egg and cracked the shell. Dark, oozing terror seeped into my veins.

_That_ was the reason for the tears. Not because he was sending me back to Clark. But because I was so upset that I had hurt someone. That man might not even walk again. That was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to hear.

I kept the tears in as long as I could, I felt them brimming. Bruce's image smeared into a whirling mass of blurs as I fought to make the wall of water recede. But I moved my eyes just a minuscule distance, and the dam broke. Two tears spilled. I said nothing further to him. I didn't want to explain myself, I didn't want to beg him to let me stay, and I didn't want to apologize. I just wanted to get out.

The towel fell from my shoulders and I stormed up the long steps back to the manor. I held my breath to keep from coughing until I had closed the grandfather clock –the secret entrance- and was back inside the manor. Then I started, and continued to cough all the way to my bedroom. The tears came quicker then; pouring down my face and making me sparkle with thick tracks of wetness. I wanted to call Clark. I wanted to tell him to come get me. I wanted to scream at him, I wanted to blame him for doing this to me. I wanted to ask him why, why, why, why did he send me here?

_Come get me._

But Bruce's words about me growing up stuck hard in my brain. I avoided the phone. Sobs caught my throat in a dizzying tempo as I stumbled into the bathroom.

I got a look at myself in the mirror. The entire left side of my face was black and yellow with bruises and there was a cut on my lip, the blood dried. The blood from the insicion on my neck had been washed away by the river but the wound was scarlet and angry looking. The top of my shoulder was bruised as well, and then the rest of my arm was fine until my fingers which were swollen and bleeding. My ribs were dark purple on the left side and I was sure my left leg looked much the same.

I was cut all over and soaked to the bone. To add to the lovely picture my face already red and puffy from the hysteria that was crawling through me. I swayed on my feet, staggering over to the shower.

I wanted water, hot, steaming water. A bath, a shower, I didn't care. I just wanted heat. I was hopping back and forth between hot and cold so quickly now, I knew my temperature must have risen. I didn't care about that either. With my hand that didn't seem to be broken, I twisted the nozzle for the hot water, and then pulled the spout so the shower head would come on.

I hung over the side of the tub, my legs buckling underneath me onto the floor. The water coursed down across my bowed head, splattering over my neck and then swirling to my hot face where salty tears mixed with the fresh droplets. My body heaved with another coughing fit, this one ripping my chest apart. The coughs now felt like woodchips down my throat. I kept coughing and coughing as the steam rose in the room.

I couldn't stop. The hysterical sobs rose in my chest, the coughing continued and worsened. I wheezed, my head spinning. I was going insane.

Thankfully, I overheated quickly and passed out, sliding back off the side of the tub and coming to a rest on the cold, tile floor just as Alfred burst in.


	12. Chapter 12

I woke up alone.

Morning light crawled like butter over the floor. The warmth reached valiantly for my bed but didn't quite make it. I was left in darkness. Darkness that reeked of my former hysteria, darkness that mocked the wheezes that were still tumbling feebly from my lungs, darkness that seemed to shower me in Bruce's words, darkness that fueled my terror. I lay there, the pain of my injuries immobilizing me. Then I remembered what day it was.

My birthday.

Nineteen years old that morning and lying damp and bloody in a bed I didn't even want to be in. Sick as a dog, my face still sore from the tears, bruises and scrapes down my sides, a busted hand, the image of a gunned down police man stained in my eyelids, and the weight of a fight with Batman on my quivering shoulders.

Happy freakin' birthday to me, right?

I pushed away the covers that Alfred had obviously laid over me and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Vertigo swelled in my head and then slowly receded. I got to my feet, only to fall right back down on my ass. But instead of hitting the mattress, I landed hard against the floor. My breath came shorter as I concentrated on trying to get my knees steady underneath me. I pulled myself up with the help of the bed post, shivering pitifully in my damp costume.

Sweat broke out across my forehead as I haphazardly made my way to the dresser, stumbling and buckling with every step. My ankle screamed in pain, my ribs wheezed their complaints and my broken hand throbbed in a mocking cadence. A gurgling cough ruptured in my chest as I ripped open the dresser with my good hand, fishing out the first things I could grab. I didn't care what; all I wanted was to be out of my costume.

It ended up being a black tank top and pajama shorts with horrible pink polka dots. I threw the ensemble on messily, shuddering as my frizzy hair grazed the bruised and butchered part of my face. The material of the shirt brushed uncomfortably over my equally hurt side.

I left my wet costume in a heap and started for the door, panting now with all the energy I was using up. I knew I shouldn't have been out of bed. I probably should have been in the hospital with the state I was in. But I wasn't concerned; I just wanted to get downstairs. I didn't really know what I planned to do when I went down there. Talking to Bruce was out of the question. Eating with him was also out of the question. Being near him at all was improbable. I think my goal was to go talk to Alfred before Bruce had a chance to even breathe the same air as me.

I got to the hallway before falling down again, my shoulder banging against the wall as I slid down it. I sat on the carpet for a moment, wheezing and trying to get a good breath in before starting my journey once again. I was absolutely delusional for being so determined.

Picking myself up all on my own, contrary to Bruce's impression of me, I started for the long stairs. The hallway spun in front of me, the walls smearing into spinning blurs that seemed to cradle my swaying body in their curved lines. My bare feet made their way to the top of the stairwell.

_So close_.

I heard voices, but my vision suddenly tunneled away from me. I recognized the voices. Dark, husky…_angry_. I couldn't make out the words. Steps came to my ears then, pounding in a rhythm that matched the pulsing blood that filled my head. Someone was coming up the stairs. More words that I couldn't understand; they blurred together and muffled. Finally, there was one I could make out.

"Bella?"

My vision snapped back to me when I took a sharp breath. Clark stood in front of me, his broad chest facing me. It looked like the most welcoming thing in the world. But I didn't go to it. I stood there stupidly –bruised, sickly, busted up and pale.

Clark whipped his head around to Bruce who emerged from the stairs behind him, "What the hell did you do to her?"

"I didn't _do_ anything," Bruce said, his voice cold.

"I thought you said you would take care of her," Clark hissed, anger flashing in his eyes.

"And I remember you saying she could take care of herself."

Through my sickness, rage welled inside my throat at Bruce's last comment. My eyes narrowed and I gave him my best glare. My hands clenched at my shorts. I thought a simple 'I hate you' would be too childish. So I went with the alternative.

"Fuck you, Bruce," I croaked.

Clark looked taken aback by my defiance. I was a bit surprised myself. I usually wasn't that disrespectful to people, even if I hated them. My gang ways were slowly creeping inside again. It was as if the blind fear that Bruce had instilled in me last night was in itself stretching the tiny pore that let all the things I was afraid of becoming again enter my body.

Rather than this sending me shuddering and sniffling again, it only pissed me off. So I shoved myself around Clark, ignoring his disapproval. I teetered on my feet and the walls spun again but I was determined to get away from them both. I had no idea where I planned to go, but I just had to get away from the tension.

Then, right when I was about to make my escape, Bruce grabbed me by the waist. I think he was trying to keep me from pitching down the stairs in my unsteady swagger, which was a nice effort on his part. But I struggled to get out of his grip.

"C'mon, we're going to have a talk," he said roughly, practically dragging me down the stairs.

"Bruce!" Clark barked from the top of the stairs.

"Let me talk to her," Bruce countered, not even turning around.

We reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Let go of me before I shove a batarang down your throat," I croaked, and since my palm was pushing frantically at his bare forearm that was round me, he obeyed mechanically.

He let go and I swayed. Ever so gracefully, I swayed right into the wall of the stairwell. I grabbed frantically for the railing while my head throbbed from the impact. I heard Bruce sigh. He reached for me again and held me tight to his muscled side. I was too embarrassed and too pissed off to even protest.

We finally made it down to the Batcave. We left Clark angrily pacing upstairs in the manor and not even Alfred could calm the poor guy.

Bruce led me to the chair in front of the computer so I could sit. I tried to refuse, not wanting to be below him and look vulnerable if we were going to fight again. But once he had me in position all he had to do was put a little pressure from his wide hands on my shoulders, and my tired knees buckled. I flopped into the chair moodily and stared up at him with my arms crossed over my chest.

His eyes never left mine. He leaned back against the long desk of the computer and just _stared_ at me. His face was immovable but there was some inner turmoil in his hard blue eyes. Finally, after the longest and most awkward pause in the world, he spoke.

"How are you feeling?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. How was I _feeling?_ What the hell kind of question was that? I coughed a bit to try and clear my throat. The burning sensation scorched my chest.

"Amazing," I grumbled when I was finished.

"You don't look it."

I rolled my eyes. _No shit, Sherlock. _I wanted to say that to him, but I couldn't bring myself to be that immature. I'd already lost a bit of my morality by dropping the F-bomb with him. So I went for sarcasm. It's such a useful tool. When in doubt, use sarcasm.

"What, you don't think purple is my color?" I snarled, turning the badly bruised side of my face toward him.

Bruce sighed at my defiance. He folded his arms over his broad chest. He was silent again. His eyes made me uncomfortable. They were not angry, not sympathetic, and not regretful –they were _observant_. I felt like he was studying me, poking at me like some frog on a lab table. I tried to keep my face rigid.

There were a few more moments of hollow silence, the void filled in by the flapping of wings and the forlorn drips of the cave. Then, he spoke.

"I apologize for what I said to you last night."

Did he just…apologize? Bruce Wayne _apologizing_? Shock buzzed throughout my confused body. I wasn't sure whether to be defiant still or give in to the treaty that I so badly wanted us to have. So with my indecisiveness, I just said nothing. My tightened body relaxed into the chair and I watched him squarely. I told him with my eyes to continue.

He didn't move a muscle, and his eyes never drew away from mine. He was no longer observing. He was looking _inside_ me. As if before he had been searching for the door, and now that he had found it he was exploring. I found that I wasn't uncomfortable with the change.

"I was out of line with what I said to you, I let my temper get the best of me."

"I didn't even know you had a temper," I offered, trying to tell him in my own way that he had my attention and I wasn't going to be a pain in the ass anymore in this conversation.

He didn't smile, but I thought I saw his shoulders loosen up a bit.

"The police officer will be fine, and I think I understand why you let that kid with the gun go. I was just so angry last night I didn't have your feelings in mind."

"S'okay," I mumbled to the floor.

He continued without me even probing. His eyes were immeasurably thoughtful and intelligent at that moment and he finally looked away, staring at something way in the distance. Even with the seriousness of the conversation I allowed myself a secret, inward swoon at the handsome contemplation in his face.

"I got angry because I was afraid," he said.

"Of?"

A pause. He seemed uncomfortable.

"You…getting hurt."

I bristled. I felt my body tighten up again and I leaned forward with my lips upturned in disgust.

"Bullshit, you were just afraid of having to report back to Superman if I got hurt!"

Bruce didn't seem fazed by my anger. He didn't move from his position and his eyes stayed cold.

"That's not it."

"Oh, isn't it?"

Angrily I tried to push myself upright, determined to storm upstairs to Clark and demand him to take me home. Actually my plan was to get up, kick Bruce in the shin and then haul ass up the stairs and yell at Clark to _fly_ me to another country. But my plans were thwarted. Bruce pushed me gently back into the chair.

I got up again, digging my fingernails into my palms.

"You know what Bruce, its fine. Like you said, I need to _grow up_ before I work with you. And you already called Clark so I guess I'll just pack my shit and get out of your hair."

I stormed off, heading up the stairs. He didn't stop me, and he didn't even run after me. All I heard was his dark voice at my back, the smooth tone rolling over my swinging shoulder blades.

"You do need to grow up. But I forgot what my purpose is with you. I'm not here just to teach you how to fight; I'm supposed to be trying to teach you to be a hero, and becoming one _requires _growing up. No matter how old you are."

"Save it for Oprah," I said harshly over my shoulder. I hadn't even paid attention really to what he had said. Maybe if really took in his words, I would have stopped and went back to him.

I broke into the room where Clark was still anxiously pacing. I must have looked like a freaking demon because once he saw me his bright blue eyes widened a bit. Then his stare turned questioning under the unneeded glasses he wore.

I said nothing to him. I just wanted to pack and get out of Wayne Manor. Clark's footsteps followed me all the way up the stairs and to my room, where he hung warily at the threshold.

"Happy Birthday, Bella," he said softly, stepping tentatively around my sour mood, "I brought you something."

I had to smile. How did I end up getting lucky enough to have him as a friend? I felt undeserving of his kindness, and was quickly ashamed by my horrible mood toward him. He hadn't done anything wrong, besides the obvious decision to put me here. But he had no idea how it would turn out. So I couldn't put anything on him.

I worked at trying to be a bit more pleasant.

"Booze?" I asked him hopefully.

"You're not old enough to drink," he countered disapprovingly.

With a roll of my eyes, I crumpled to the side of my bed and I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my bare knees and rest my head in my hands. The cut under my jaw from the blade the night before was sore and it hurt to swallow. It hurt to swallow anyway. I gave a few damaging coughs toward the night stand before feeling the bed shift. Clark had sat down beside me. He extended a little box toward me.

I couldn't have been happier with him. I knew he was probably dying to ask me questions; he wanted to know what the fight was about –the details that Bruce hadn't told him, I assumed- what we had talked about downstairs, how the hell I got so banged up, why I was sick –but he didn't ask me a single thing. All he did was give me a present.

If all guys were like Clark, it would be a happy, happy world for women.

I slowly opened the box.

"Oh wow," I said, looking down with wide eyes. It was a necklace with a silver chain that shimmered as I shifted the tiny box in my good hand.

There was two small silver charms hanging on the chain, they were symbols of some sort. One looked like a small, quick stroke 't' connected to a j-looking shape. The other was like little boxes over upside down Ts.I wasn't used to nice jewelry; I barely wore any as it was. But I was drawn to the necklace for some reason, and lifted it like a broken bird out of the box.

Clark was beaming, "It's the Chinese symbol for strength."

I raised my eyebrows. I was impressed. A sensitive, _meaningful_ present from the male species? Well that was a first in my experience. Most guys just buy expensive stuff just to get the gift buying over with, assuming the girl will love anything that sparkles. But that necklace…that actually meant something. It connected to me, my journey, my turmoil…I draped it around my throat and then turned my back to Clark so he could clip it.

"I love it," I said, "I'm really impressed, actually."

He chuckled from behind me. It was so refreshing to hear his happy-go-lucky voice, his infectious laughter, and a smile on his sculpted face. It was such a breath of fresh air from Bruce's dark monotone and usually expressionless –though devilishly handsome- face.

Once the necklace was fastened I groaned and leaned back against him.

"Rough week?" he asked gently, ruffling my hair a bit.

"Rough is a very, _very_ mild word. How about you?"

"The city's been slow; nothing too big has come up. Pretty boring without you though."

I frowned to the wall. His mentioning brought back Bruce's harsh comments from the fight. I thought back to Clark and I fighting together in Metropolis bitterly now, which was disappointing. I used to have so much fun basking in my memories of kicking ass with Clark. And now they were tainted with the realization that I had not been the bad ass superhero I had been deceived into thinking I was.

His comment drove something hard in me. That's pretty much all I was, entertainment while he worked. Sure I could get a punch in sometimes, and I was useful in interrogation and getting someone to surrender, but I never saved Clark's ass before. He'd saved mine countless times, just because I was always screwing up. But he never minded, not like Bruce did. I guessed that was part of my problem –I'd grown so accustomed to being babied out in the real crime world that I was too cocky when I lost Clark.

I realized with disdain that my thoughts were almost direct quotes from Bruce. With a sigh I leaned up from Clark and fingered my new necklace.

"Hey, you think you could help me pack? I've only got one hand."

Clark looked at me funny and raised an eyebrow.

"Pack? Where are you going?"

I leaned back a bit more so I could fully see his face and figure out if he was teasing me. His expression mirrored the skepticism and confusion in mine.

"Didn't Bruce call you to tell you to come pick me up?"

He shook his head, "No, I came on my own. I wanted to give you the package thing, and your present."

My eyes widened. I didn't even care about the package at that point. I jumped up, ignoring the dizziness that rushed over me like an ocean wave, and darted for the door.

"Bella?" Clark called, getting up and following after me.

I bumped –literally- into Alfred on the way to the stairs. He steadied me with a chuckle but then must have noticed my wide eyes because his smile disappeared.

"Ms. Sweet, is there a problem?"

"Where's Bruce?"

"I do believe he just went out on some _business_," Alfred said, looking pointedly at both Clark and I.

I bit my lip, inner disorder swirling in my head.

He _hadn't_ called Clark to come get me. He wanted me to stay. And I had mouthed off to him like a fifteen year old and shot down his attempt to apologize to me. I re-ran through what I could remember of our conversation. I took his words now with a calm, cool mind and their meaning finally slipped under my skin.

I wrinkled my nose uncomfortably.

"You wouldn't happen to know when he'll be back, would you?" I asked, even though I knew it was a lost cause to even ask. Bruce never had a schedule. He was out until the job was done.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Ms. Sweet."

I groaned, which only spurred the tickle in my throat. The sound turned into hard coughs that bent me double. With each shudder of my body my damaged side generously handed me waves of pain. This had to stop. I was so frustrated with being broken.

"You need to go sit," Clark urged, hooking his hand around the inside of my arm. He tugged me ever so slightly towards the still open door of my room.

"I'll bring you some hot tea," Alfred offered with his warm smile.

I gave him a huge sigh of gratitude, and then hoarsely said, "And a butt load of aspirin, please."

He nodded and headed downstairs, chuckling.

I made it back to my bed and flopped down, the good side of my face first. I heard Clark laughing and he moved behind me, grabbing my legs that didn't make it and hoisting them onto the bed with me. My thousandth groan of the morning was muffled by the bedspread, still damp from my wet clothes earlier.

I turned my head so my mouth wasn't pressed into the sheets and searched for Clark. He was coming around the end of the bed. He finally sat adjacent from me.

"You said you came because you brought the package?" I asked.

Clark nodded and reached inside pocket of his suit jacket. The package was tiny, even smaller than the box my necklace had come in. He extended the small thing to me with thoughtful eyes. I reached out lazily and then drew it back to me. I struggled to get into the sitting position and then worked at opening it.

"What do you make of it?" I asked, struggling to get the tape off the thick paper covering.

"I haven't even looked at it, see –I left it closed to respect your privacy," Clark said, he sounded a bit proud of himself.

I looked up at him dryly, "Clark, you have x-ray vision."

His eyes widened a bit and I thought I saw his cheeks flush, "True. But I didn't use it."

I only laughed and right as I did so the tape snapped. A little too excitedly, I ripped open the packaging. Inside was a small folded up piece of paper and a picture. I took the picture out slowly. It was obvious my hand was shaking. I wasn't sure if it was excitement, or fear.

I pulled the picture close to my face. Crystalline eyes went right through me. Two ice bullets tainted with the ocean's aquamarine hue struck me hard in the chest.

"Ruby," I murmured.

Though the face I stared down at was three years older since I last saw it, I knew who it was instantly. Big wide eyes, somewhat sleeked by womanhood stared up at me. The color was a rich, iced ocean against the astounding red of the woman's curls. Her face was round and her cheeks were full giving her a sweet innocence that Bella had been pulled to like a magnet the first day she was found by _la rats de la rue._ Her cheeks were rosy, nose dappled with light freckles, and her small mouth was painted pink and pulled into the smallest of smiles.

Memories oozed from her picture and crawled into my fingertips.

She was my best friend in the gang. She was only a few years older than me, but she treated me as if I were her daughter. She took me under her wing and was my sole confidant in the chaotic world that I had suddenly been sucked into. I talked to her about boys, about life, about me, about my powers –she was the all-knowing guru that I bowed to all ten years of my membership. She was always sweet to me, and was one of the only two in the gang who cared enough about me to try and pull my reigns a bit to keep me from becoming too corrupted. In the end her efforts were fruitless, but I loved her just for trying.

I hadn't seen her since Clark took me in.

There was a boy next to her in the picture. He was unfamiliar to me, but the first thing I noticed that he was ridiculously attractive. He had a ruffled head of bright red hair, just like Ruby did. A strong but thin face was chiseled with prominence. But he had a big, goofy grin stretched across his mouth.

His arm was around her shoulders.

Clark said nothing but I could feel his eyes on me. I was afraid he'd be so concentrated his laser vision would start up. Bye, bye Bella. I shifted just in case and pressed my back up against the head of the bed. I opened up the paper which turned out to be a letter in her neat scrawl.

_Dear Bella,_

_It's been a while, hasn't it? I bet you're wondering how I figured everything out. Well it's not that great of a story. Anyone who knows you as well as I do would have been able to figure out it was you, even with the mask. The hair was kind of obvious, even when you tied it up. No one else in the group figured it out, except Caleb. I think we know you the best, so we know all your body language and…mannerisms, I guess you could say. So I slipped this to Superman after he finished off a robbery one night. _

_Well I didn't blab, and neither did Caleb. He's still with them. I'm not. I left about a year after you did. It wasn't that hard, I just said I was going out to find a dealer and I never came back. I'm staying with this really nice guy named Wally outside of Metropolis. He's really sweet. _

_But I don't think this is the time to talk about boys. _

_We need to get together, and soon. There's something I have to tell you but I don't want to put it in a letter, you never know these days who's gonna pick something up and read it. But it's important. I think you might be in trouble. _

_Call the number written on the back of the picture. We'll set up a place to meet. _

_Please be careful and all that junk. I miss you like hell. I was so worried for so long. But I think you're in good hands, and I prefer to keep thinking like that._

_Alright, Blackberry. I'll see you around. _

_-Ruby_

I almost wanted to scream my questions at the letter. They were building up behind my teeth with such power I felt if I so much as opened my lips to breathe they'd all come tumbling out. And their momentum would be so great that it would knock poor Clark right off the bed.

"Bella? Bella what's wrong? Your face is all red."

I thrust the note at Clark and ran my hands frantically through my thick hair. My breathing came quicker and quicker with the exhilaration, the anxiety, the release of mystery and the momentum of a thousand more.

Thankfully, at that precise moment Alfred came in with my tea and the pills.

Clark was already done reading. He placed the note down, his brow furrowed. I took the tea gratefully from Alfed's shimmering silver tray and brought it to my lips. The hot liquid spilled fervently down my throat. It was one of the best feelings I'd ever felt.

"Thank's Alfred," I said, my voice a bit thicker and fuller with the scratchiness gone.

He set the tray down at the night stand with a nod and a smile and then backed away. I snuggled down against the mattress, holding the picture to my heart and closing my eyes.

"Bella…" Clark said. I could tell by his voice that his forehead was still puckered with concern.

"Wake me up in an hour and we'll talk," I said in a throaty whisper, sleep already blurring the corners of my mind.

Just take one more thing on to the endless list of my bad luck. Happy birthday to me.


	13. Chapter 13

Bruce was still out when evening came around. Clark left around five because he had a date with Lois. As Superman, of course. I told him sourly not to leave his cape tucked into his underpants, angry with him for even bringing up her name. But when he left I hugged him for the longest time. I think we could have like even blown a world record with that hug. I wanted it to last forever, and it almost did.

I didn't want him going. Because it would just be Bruce, Alfred and I again. Three people in the huge, lonely house –one of which didn't even smile. I didn't know how I was expected to survive. It was just like an addiction. I was held out for a few weeks and finally Clark came. I got my fix from his happy attitude and adamant smiles. And now I was put to the test again, to see how long I could last the withdrawal.

He told me to call him once I called Ruby. He was going with me to our meeting, and there was no way in hell I could talk him out of it. But I hadn't called yet. I didn't have the guts to pick up the phone and hear the honey-smooth voice that I'd been deprived of for the last three years. I didn't have the guts to even _imagine_ meeting up with her, her breath mixing with mine, our voices twining and growing familiar with one another again. It was a scary concept.

So naturally, I avoided it.

I sunk back into the warm covers of comfort, trying to surround my drained body with as much of it as I could. I put on one of Clark's large casual shirts that I'd stolen a while ago from his wardrobe. They fit his widely muscled torso perfect, but hung baggy and comfortable on my smaller one. It was a warm shirt that still managed to smell like him even though I'd washed it with my soap a bunch of times. My theory was that he used to keep stealing it back even after I had it, and whoever was folding the laundry or happened to find it lying on the ground had dibs.

I wore the Clark shirt and a pair of huge black sweat pants. I buried myself in warmth, which with the absence of my fever stayed consistent, and then went downstairs to help Alfred out with dinner.

I hadn't looked in a mirror all day, I was too afraid of what I would see. I could feel the violent tangles the river had wound into my thick hair. I could barely pull the huge mane into an acceptable ponytail. I think I broke three elastics in the process. And I knew the side of my face that I'd smacked was swollen with the bruises, and I had a hunch that the virus in me had given me a _beautiful_ "almost-dead-pale" complexion.

But despite all that, I was feeling better. The virus must have been wearing off, deciding it had run its course in me. My cough was still heavy but it didn't burn as bad. I wasn't dizzy any longer and most of my pain was from my bruised and swollen hand –which Clark determined wasn't broken after all- and my ankle. There were no more unexplained aches and pains. And no more fever!

I think Clark was what healed me. I really needed him there, even if it was only for a few hours. His optimism was like a magic injection that started to chase out the sickness.

"Good evening, Ms. Sweet."

I entered the kitchen with a smile, drawing in the scent heartily. I made my way over to the counter where Alfred was cutting something on a board and peeked inside the pot that bubbled on the stove.

"Hey Alfred," I said, closing my eyes as the warmth from the pot beneath me fanned over my face, "What's cookin?"

'Spaghetti and meatballs," he said, scooping the garlic that he'd just cut up into his palm and dumping it in the large pot.

"Oh, I love you," I said happily, leaning back from the pot as my stomach gave an inaudible, but powerful grumble.

He laughed and handed me the knife. He'd gotten used to me demanding to assist him, and didn't bother any longer to try and convince me that I didn't need to. I think he figured out that it was not a job for me, it was _fun_. I think he also knew I trusted him and that he was the only person I could go to in the manor.

I took the knife in my good hand, which was thankfully my right hand because I am in _no_ way ambidextrous. And if it my good hand ended up being my left hand, I would have lost some fingers that night.

"Tomatoes?" I asked.

He nodded with a smile and I set to work as he filtered through the cabinets for his next ingredient. I worked, taking my mind off of _everything_ that wasn't the round tomatoes under my hands.

I ate with Alfred that night, just in the tiny kitchen where the heat crawled in and set over us like a blanket and made me sleepy. I stuffed myself. I hadn't had much of an appetite being so sick and I felt like it was the first time I'd eaten in days. The food was amazing, as it always was. Spaghetti just happens to be one of my favorites. It was a nice way to end the confused and messy morning.

Alfred and I talked for a while about light hearted things. We didn't even touch on Bruce's absence, or the letter I'd gotten from Ruby, or about the fight. We talked about our favorite foods, cooking, good restaurants and bad restaurants, strange waiters, Alfred's childhood, and then of course we started talking about Miley Cyrus and I questioned Alfred teasingly about his amazing dance moves.

That's what I loved most about Alfred. He was lighthearted, even living with Batman. I think Alfred balanced Bruce out a bit. If he wasn't there, I'm sure Bruce would sink into himself.

I thought the excitement was over for the day and as I leaned back, tummy happy and eyelids heavy, I was prepared to go up for a comfortable night of sleep. I was determined not to worry about anything in the future until it reared its ugly head. But of course something had to come up.

Now it wasn't a bad thing, not at all. It was actually good.

I helped Alfred with the dishes, and he suddenly snapped his head up.  
"Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, Ms. Sweet!"

I jumped at his suddenness and I almost dropped the plate I was drying. I laughed and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I believe Master Bruce left you something before he left. When I went down to check if he was back I saw it. I assume it's for you." He winked.

I felt my eyes widen. What the hell did that mean? And why was he winking? Was it like a bear trap or something that was going to snap off my leg for mouthing off to Bruce earlier? I grimaced at the mental image and cagily set down the plate.

"What is it?" I asked.

"You'll have to see for yourself," he said, laughing gently.

I was so afraid of what Bruce had left me that Alfred literally had to push me out of the kitchen and guide (force) me to the grandfather clock. Then he left me at the top of the winding stairs, letting me alone to look down at the inky abyss that held some sort of "gift" for me.

I swallowed hard and made my way down.

The cool, wet atmosphere evaporated the sleepiness from over my eyelids. I shivered and hugged myself a bit. I blew out a puff of air, wondering if I was going to be able to see my breath or not. I couldn't. I was overreacting. Determined not to be such a little girl about the entire ordeal, I raised my chin and continued on steadily into the lightened area of the Batcave. Then, I saw it.

I stopped dead center in front of the platform where the Batmobile was usually parked.

There was a motorcycle. Dark, sleek, sexy and _purple_. There was a lone rose lying gracefully on its black seat. There was no note, no explanation, no indication –other than it being purple- that it was for me. But I immediately knew who it was for and why it had been given.

An apology.

With a rose. I had to admit, that was a good move on his part. He was a smart, smart man. I was wooed instantly. Not able to contain my excitement, I danced over toward the bike and ran my hand over its side.

"I'll name you the _Bellamobile_," I mumbled with a grin, stroking it affectionately.

Then I took the rose and with a dreamy smile I smoothed the leathery petals between my fingertips.


	14. Chapter 14

Bruce and I made amends in the days that followed. I think if anything, our relationship was actually even better than it was before we had the fight. My former analogy wandered back into my thoughts –we were now both cautiously stepping over the line that separated us, eager to explore each other's territory.

It was not a relationship like Clark's and mine. We didn't hug, we didn't joke; we didn't talk much about how we felt, how our week was going, etc. But those were not things I never really expected to do with Bruce anyway, no matter how close we got. What we did do though was almost more rewarding for me. It was such a subtle friendship and I had to work for it –it was more precious that way. An earned trust, and earned friendship.

Now we met eyes and didn't look away, we watched TV together; we actually had full conversations at dinner, he included me when trying to figure problems out and he even gave me lessons on riding my new bike.

And training actually became fun instead of nerve-wracking.

"Alright, so someone has your hands locked behind you."

Bruce came up behind me and twisted my arms, pressing my closed fists hard against my spine. I'll admit, even though we were becoming more comfortable with each other, I couldn't stop my heart from kicking up every time he got close to me, or when we met eyes, or all that romantic cheesy stuff. But I _had _gotten a little better at hiding it.

He tightened his grip and pressed my hands harder into my back.

"What do you do?"

I struggled hard against his strong arms and writhed around.

"You'll dislocate something, try another way," he instructed coolly.

I stopped struggling against him and narrowed my eyes in thought. I tried to picture him as one of Joker's henchmen. Bruce had me in the same way the massive gorilla guy had me that one night. What could I have done differently?

I think being with Bruce, my perceptiveness and thoughtfulness increased. I think he breathed out some of his intellect, maybe, and since I'd been living with him I was breathing it up and it was slowly being absorbed into my brain.

I raised my right leg just a bit to hit the "henchman" in between the legs and then froze it in midair. I didn't want to do it to Bruce. If I had still been mad at him, maybe.

"Well that's one way to do it," Bruce said. I thought I could hear a bit of a smirk in his voice. He shifted his weight and tightened his grip even harder. "But let's say it's a woman."

I was impressed with how quickly my instincts came now. I had another idea within seconds of his new addition to the fake situation. I shifted my weight onto one leg. I backed my other leg up a bit and then found his with the top of my foot. I slid my foot up just until I found the dip of the back of his knee and then applied a little bit of pressure –implying this is where I would kick if it was a real baddie. He let go and I turned to face him.

"Good," Bruce said, giving a rare nod of approval.

I stood there, smiling after him as he headed over to a corner of the work out room, preparing our next activity. I could feel my cheeks and my chest warming harshly, but tried to control it. I didn't want him turning around to a freaking tomato. I drew in a deep breath, busting with pride at myself, and looked to the floor. That's when something hit me in the shoulder.

A Clementine dropped to the floor by my feet.

"Ow!" I said, my eyes wide. Bruce faced me, his dark blue eyes were laughing, but his mouth was pressed into a serious line.

"Why are you throwing fruit at me?" I asked incredulously.

In response, he hurled a grape at me. It bounced off my leg and hit the floor next to the Clementine.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked with a laugh.

Determined, I picked up the grape and chucked it back at him. He swerved expertly away from it and it hit the bench press. He bent down to the box at his side and when he came back up there was another Clementine in his fist. He threw it hard and I attempted to dodge just as well as he did. I swerved and it nailed me in the hip.

"Teaching you how to dodge," Bruce answered, grabbing a kiwi out of the box and chucking it. I tried to jump away from it but it smacked against my hand as I did.

"Guess I need some work with that, huh?" I grumbled and then sucked on my knuckle that hurt a bit from the kiwi attack.

He didn't answer and grabbed an armful of fruit. I swore inwardly and backed up a bit.

"Just pretend their knives," Bruce coached before firing away.

The fruit came at me like a shower of bullets. Oranges, apples, kiwis, clementines grapes –I got an apple in the hip and a banana in the throat just when Alfed walked in.

"Good heavens, Master Bruce," he said when the sounds of the bouncing fruit died away and Bruce was left without ammo, "I would have bought some ping pong balls when I went out today if I had known you were going to use up all our produce."

"Ping pong balls aren't as painful," Bruce said matter-of-factly.

"Tell me about it," I squeaked, holding my throat as automatic tears of pain bit at my eyes. I massaged gently at the place of impact and tried to clear my throat. "Dude, if that was a knife I'd be dead," I said, my voice still weak.

Bruce raised himself from the floor after retrieving an orange that rolled back to him. He tossed it up and down at me.

"If those were knives you would have been dead in five seconds. I don't think you dodged one."

"I believe it," I said with a frown, rubbing a sore spot on my shoulder, and then moving on to touch at a forming bruise on my stomach. Then I looked at Bruce, placing my hands on my hips. "Alright, let's see how good you do."

I heard Alfred laughing behind me.

"I'll add _fruit_ to the grocery list." He set down the two water bottles he'd brought for us and left just as I heaved an orange at Bruce.

Bruce stepped to the side. It missed him. I crouched and grabbed two kiwis and a grape. I reared back and lobbed the handful. Bruce swerved to the right, missing one kiwi. Then to the left, away from the other one and the grape. He moved so fast I could barely follow his movements.

"That's not fair," I whined, dropping down to retrieve more ammo, "Why are you so good?"

I knew his answer before he even said it.

"I'm Batman."

I laughed, filling up the room with the happy sound. I didn't feel strange laughing, though he didn't laugh much himself, I knew my laughter wasn't unwelcome with him.

I couldn't even keep my aim I was laughing so much. An orange went into another machine, a few grapes out into the hall.

Finally, I hit him with an apple. I threw my fists up in the air, the sore muscles of my back rolling with the movement. I spun in an excited circle, grinning like an idiot.

And later that night Bruce, Alfred and I sat down to watch a movie together. I even got to sit next to Bruce on the couch, letting his heat crawl over the length of the cushions to my bare legs.

I fell asleep in the middle of the movie. And I stirred and woke only to find Bruce laying the blanket that hung over the back of the couch over my curled up body. I quickly shut my eyes again, pretending to not notice and still be asleep. It's just awkward if you wake up and look at the person when they put a blanket over you.

My heart sang for a good five minutes. But then as I thought about the action it made me miss Clark. The big sap always would do that for me. If he left early for work and I was still asleep he would readjust the blankets over me, or if he came home late from a call he'd do the same thing. I'd woken up to him doing it countless numbers of times, and eventually I started to do it to him as well when he was asleep and I wasn't.

But I was just so pleasantly surprised that I had found one similarity in Bruce and Clark, other than their big muscles. Sure, Clark _always_ showed his kindness and care, and Bruce had to make sure he showed only when he was sure the person wasn't aware he was doing it –but that wasn't the point.

As if reading my mind, I heard Alfred laugh gently from his chair next to the couch. I heard his soft voice over the blare of the movie.

"Ah, that is something I've always been grateful for, Master Bruce. Even after all the years of Batman, you still have not yet lost your compassion."

I shifted in my "sleep" and forced myself not to smile. I pulled the blanket close to my chin, feeling its cloth cuddle around my body.

For the first time inside the cold, empty manor, I was wonderfully warm.


	15. Chapter 15

The next night was the first night I went up against a real villain with Bruce and with my training tucked tight and hopeful under my belt.

We were both suited up already when the call came to the Batcave. Bruce pinpointed the distress information on a virtual map of Gotham and ended up at the elaborate Gotham diamond gallery showcase.

"Freeze," Bruce murmured.

I had been pulling on the elastic that was tied in my huge mass of hair. I stopped what I was doing immediately, thinking that he was addressing me. I didn't move a muscle, I didn't even breathe. Then he got up from the chair, his dark cape making a menacing whoosh as he stood.

I realized my mistake quick enough for him not to notice and ripped the elastic from my hair. The thick waterfall spilled down the back of my blazer, all the river tangles from that horrible night combed out and forgotten. A familiar scent of my shampoo rushed around me and mollified my nerves just a bit. I had to keep my cool; Bruce reminded me when we got into the Batmobile. Just because it was the first time I had to remember my training where it really counted, I couldn't let it scare me.

So I worked on calming myself down as we drove to the heart of Gotham.

We arrived, stealthy and cautious as always. We broke into the evacuated building through the rooftop. The screaming police cars and thrumming lights became faint below us.

I slipped into the tiny doorway after Bruce and dropped into a pit of black. It was a wonder my feet found whatever platform we were on. My shoes clinked against the surface as we walked. I found this time, instead of walking warily behind Bruce, I walked with confidence right next to him. I could feel the swagger of my hips striking the air with assurance and my hair flowing with certain coolness behind me. It was a good feeling.

We walked for a little while until we ended up at the balcony overlooking the showcase. And there he was, in the cold, blue flesh. He didn't notice us and I saw Bruce dart silently to the left. I followed after him, keeping my footsteps nimble and quiet.

Freeze was a pretty intimidating villain. I still think the Joker is the scariest, but Freeze gets right up there with him. The plastic helmet encasing his blue, hairless head, the glasses with the dark red lens and the full body suit glimmering to keep his body sub-zero for survival. And let's not forget the huge freeze gun that was hooked along his thumb.

"Beautiful," he said. He was gazing down inside a glass case at the mother of all diamonds. His voice was hauntingly robotic, and seemed to buzz in his icy throat before filtering out through his little speakers in his helmet. He reached with a blue-suit covered hand for the crushed glass that had rained down on his treasure.

A familiar whizzing sound came from beside me. A batarang zipped through the air and struck the arm of his metal suit with a resounding bang. Freeze looked up quickly, the light catching his glasses and making them gleam bloodily. A sadistic smile wound its way to his pale lips.

"Batman," he said in cold cordiality, "Glad you could make it."

Bruce didn't move a muscle and I could hear his breath coming smooth and even beside me. I, on the other hand, was about to hyperventilate. But I kept my jaw welded shut so I wouldn't be gasping for breath and show my fear. Freeze set his gaze on me.

"Oh, and who's this?"

I didn't answer him. I clenched my teeth together.

He laughed darkly, "No need for the cold shoulder, darling. And you might want to put something warmer, it's going to be chilly tonight."

He aimed the gun at Bruce and me. Bruce didn't have time to throw anything. His next instinct kicked in, which was good for my ass because if not it would have probably frozen and fallen off. Just before the ice would have hit, he crouched, pulling me down violently with him, and shielded us with his cape. I heard the ice pelting against the tough material and winced, just waiting for it to finally break through and kill me.

The great crashing and crackling sound of the gun continued for another minute or so, but it was no longer directed at us. Bruce kept the cape around us just until he assumed it was safe and then drew it away. We were buried under about two feet of snow.

We both fought our way out of it. When I finally rose to my feet, brushing snow off my bare stomach and trying to shake some feeling back into my prickling fingers, I found that the entire room had been turned into a winter wonderland. Maybe _wonderland_ isn't too good of a word to describe it.

There was really nothing wonderful about it. The tables were caked in ice; the floor was slick with it, dagger-like icicles hung along the ceiling as if we were in the jaws of a terrible monster, and snow caked the balcony. The entire room dropped about forty degrees and colored itself a blinding white, with huge slabs of crystalline mass.

My costume was not designed for such a temperature. It wasn't much of a costume, but I had it designed for me when I first started fighting with Clark, making the excuse over a phone call that it was for Halloween. It was just an open black blazer and a dark strip of material to cover my chest, where the heavy cloth started just above my boobs and ended right under my ribs. This left my stomach and most of my chest open. My pants were long and tapered down to my ankles, but they were thin like spandex material so they would be tight enough on me not to get in the way. I had gloves with the costume, just to make sure no slip ups happened during a fight, but they weren't winter gloves by any means. I did have a winter suit for those months in Metropolis, but once again, I swore at myself for not thinking to grab it from home.

The cold was already taking a toll on me; I was shuddering as I tried to jump down from the balcony. I landed on a not icy spot –thank the lord- and looked to the side to see Bruce swinging from the balcony after shooting one of the grappling hook into the frozen ceiling. He swung for Freeze who couldn't get his aim. Bruce sent his booted feet right into his chest and Freeze went flying.

Bruce dropped to the ground, his body squared and tensed for combat. With the diversion I took the time to button up my blazer. I knew it wouldn't help much, but anything that would _somewhat_ help me retain my heat, even if just a miniscule amount, was an effort necessary.

Freeze was up as I finished buttoning.

His gun never left his hand. He shot at Bruce, who dodged it just as skillfully as if it were a kiwi I'd just thrown at him. Bruce skidded on the ice but never lost his footing. I watched him sway a bit as he worked at getting his balance back.

"That's the hypothermia setting in," Freeze informed him, grinning, "Too bad you're only human, Batman."

I could feel hypothermia in my own body as well. My reaction time was getting slower and slower, I couldn't have grabbed onto something if I tried , both Bruce's and my movements were become slow and we stumbled all over the place.

But I knew if there was any hope for me I had to keep moving. I started at a messy run for Freeze. Once I got to him I jumped and aimed a kick for his helmet. I figured if that the helmet had to be there for a reason, and if I could break it maybe it would slow him down.

But my foot never even made contact. My arrival was too slow and in mid-air Freeze grabbed my ankle. Then he whipped me across the room. I flew for a few feet and then hit the ice. I slid for another five or six feet before the wall rushed up to greet me. The back of my head connected first and then I crumpled to the side, groaning with pain. The ice stung the bare skin of my back where my jacket had ridden up while I was sliding.

I was shaking really bad, but I knew I needed to get back up. Bruce wasn't having such a great time either. Both of our bodies were starting to protest to the cold, and they desperately wanted to shut down.

Bruce hurled another batarang towards Freeze, who dodged it effortlessly. From where I lay I could see Bruce's breath coming in ashen clouds quickly above his head as he backed up from the advancing Freeze. I pulled myself to my feet and made my way as quickly as I could over to help him. He kept unsuccessfully throwing batarangs. His attempts were thwarted, I assumed, by the cold in his body and his inability of his numbing hands.

There was a fallen icicle lying by my feet as I passed. I crouched and picked it up. My fingers burned with the debilitating cold that I'd added on and they were vulnerable to loosen their grip.

Bruce was backing up so quickly that he was by my side in an instant. I launched the large icicle piece at Freeze's head, but my arm was shaking too much for me to put any power into the throw. It hit his chest pitifully, and he laughed at me before raising his gun and pointing at Bruce.

Bruce was shaking just as much as I was. It was really scary to see him in the same boat as me. He was always more powerful, smarter, calmer and more "on the ball" than I was. And to see him vulnerable just like me let fear run even icier in my frozen chest.

I tried to ram Bruce out of the path of the gun but I couldn't push him far enough fast enough. I ended up getting iced too. It was one of the worst feelings in my entire life. My legs stopped moving and then a horrible cold crawled up from my waist, circling my bare torso in ice that scraped and burned my bare skin. The ice encrusted both our bodies up to our necks. Bruce was taller than me so his neck was my jaw, and that's were the ice ended for me. I could barely swallow; the ice was pushing hard up against my throat.

I gagged at the feeling and then tried to raise my head a bit until I was looking at the ceiling. There I could breathe and swallow normally. But there were more problems than just that. I couldn't feel anything. My hands were gone, as were my legs. Not that I could have moved them anyway. But the feeling was scary enough to get my heart rate up a bit more.

"Pretty," Freeze said, drawing closer to me and running a cold hand over my cheek. My breath came hard and white out of my bluing lips. I shifted my eyes to the side to get a look at Bruce. His eyes were locked on Freeze, and his mouth –bluing just like mine- was pressed tightly into a grim line.

Freeze then backed away and grabbed the diamond he'd come looking for. He opened a compartment in his suit, slipped the huge hunk of glittering stone into it, and then turned to us. He gave us a two fingered salute and then made himself a little ice bridge that let him ascend to the balcony from where we had come.

There were a few minutes of silence between Bruce and I. We were both too cold to even speak, or even make the effort. I was sure the spit in my mouth had frozen and had locked my teeth together.

I wasn't going to last long if I just kept doing nothing, and neither was Bruce. I shifted my eyes and just by the scowling twist of his mouth, I could tell he was deep in thought as well. How the hell were we going to get out of this?

Desperately I tried smacking my chin against the ice that surrounded my throat. The spikes cut up my chin and within a few seconds of trying to crack the ice even in the tiniest bit, I was bleeding.

A man in a dark suit suddenly came through the front doors. He didn't look like a police man, but had somehow gained access into the scene when no one else had. He looked professional though, that was obvious. He didn't speak until he was right in front of Bruce and I. He stared hard at me, and only me.

There was something vicious in his brown eyes.

"Belladonna." He wasn't asking.

I couldn't nod. I grunted, pleading inside my head for him to save us. All he did was hold up a badge and say something that faded from my ears. I was weakening. His voice came back to me as I worked at staying conscious.

"The government has sent me to make you an offer. We require your powers and assistance and are prepared to reimburse for your help if you agree to our conditions."

While he spoke, he whipped out something that looked like a pen from his suit jacket. He pressed a button and a small laser sizzled down the side of my icy entrapment. When he was finished speaking I was able to bust myself. I buckled a bit and held onto the ice with my numb hands. My feet felt like lead under me with their growing numbness.

"No thanks," I chattered, looking at him angrily and waiting for him to free Bruce.

He didn't budge. He stared hard at my hard face which was rigid with skepticism and frustration.

"I said no thank you," I repeated. I wasn't going to be anyone's lab rat. Especially not the governments. What had the government ever done for people like me, ridden with the disease of the uneducated and drug filled streets?

"Help me get him out," I then pleaded, starting to bang my fist against Bruce's ice.

I pounded my hand hard against a crack that had stretched over to his side of the ice trap from my own escape. My skin tingled and pricked like needles as I slammed it against the ice furiously. I slammed as hard as I could. It was a lost cause.

Bruce didn't even have the breath to instruct me. I turned to find something I could use that was heavier than my hand.

The man in the dark suit was gone.

As confused as I was, I knew I couldn't waste any time. Bruce's safety was almost ticking inside my head as I searched frantically for something I could use. I spotted another icicle and rushed to it. I picked it up in my cold, prickling hands that were starting to regain feeling and hurried back to Bruce. I hammered the point of the icicle into the crack and the ice finally gave way. Bruce's arm wiggled and he wrenched his fist free and began to strike at the edges of the breakage.

I worked on his other side with the icicle. And just as the police burst through the door he was free. He grabbed me by the waist after pushing the button his belt to call the Batmobile to our location. The icy material of his glove was harsh against my bare skin. He shot the hook through the window of the tall, three story building, took a running start, and then flew into the open air. The temperature change was drastic. The mild summer evening hit me like a truck.

The Batmobile came to a dramatic stop right below us and the top slid open. Bruce landed expertly in the driver's seat. I let go too soon and banged against the center console before flipping over and drawing my legs in as the hood came over. Bruce punched the buttons for autopilot and for heat and then hugged his muscled arms around himself. He coughed a bit and then shuddered. His lips were still blue.

I readjusted myself in my seat until I was right side up again and pressed my face up close to the vent where heat was suddenly pouring out. It wasn't enough. The warmth only grazed the side of my cheek. I needed it all over.

"B-body heat," Bruce suddenly ordered, his voice shaking and teeth clacking.

This was the most "romantic" moment I'd ever had with Bruce. We were both in too much need of heat to even find it embarrassing at the time. But later when I looked back I realized how awkward –how _wonderfully_ awkward for me- it really was.

I didn't have to ask him what he meant. Immediately I crawled over to his seat and climbed on top of him. Scandalous.

Not really.

I was shaking so much that I was getting dizzy. But I was in better shape than Bruce was. He'd been in the ice longer than I had, and he hadn't gotten the chance to warm himself up like I had. So I pressed myself against the freezing material of his suit. The emblem on his broad chest was frosty on my cheek. I wrapped my arms around him and he wrapped his around me, pulling his cape with him so we were wrapped in a sub-zero, black, bat cocoon.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck and shoulder and concentrated on trying to expel as much heat as I could –if it was possible to even regulate that.

I shuddered along with him. It felt like we were almost doing it at the same time. His breath, barely warm, trembled at the top of my head and his arms quivered around me as he tried to keep me close to his chest. The Batmobile directed us home by itself as we lay there, hungry…_voracious_ for each other's warmth.

When the Batmobile finally stopped, the hood slipped open and the cool, damp air of the Batcave mixed with the sweltering heat of the Batmobile's interior. I still wasn't warm enough, but I was no longer shaking. Feeling had come back to my hands and my feet. I pushed myself off Bruce a bit; I pressed my palms against the seat around him and raised myself. His arms slid limply off my back and the cape sides fluttered sadly to the away from me.

Bruce groaned and his head lolled a bit to the side. His eyes were closed.

"Alfred!" I called in a sudden panic, "Alfred!"

I tapped at Bruce's cheeks a bit. They were still ice cold, and there was no color in them. I hopped off of him and swung out of the Batmobile. Alfred was jogging over to me, his eyes wide with concern.

I gave Alfred the details and we both dragged Bruce out of the vehicle. Alfred got blankets and we wrapped each of his limbs up and then his torso. Then Alfred found heat packs in the kit Bruce had over by the stairwell and placed them in places over Bruce's body. We took off his mask and wrapped his head. The whiteness of his skin scared me.

But within the hour the color came back into his cheeks and his lips returned to their faint pink hue.

He finally opened his eyes after a grueling waiting period. He was going to be okay.

Eventually we got him upstairs and on the couch, wrapped into a robe and coughing hard. He was okay…but sick. And he was much worse than I had been. Sweat drenched his forehead and gleamed in the dip of his strong collarbones. He shook uncontrollably still through his coughing fits and his eyes whirled in a fever-filled delusion.

It was scary to watch him. The feeling of the night where he'd come home bloody that one night came back to me. A great hero floored by simple sickness, now. It didn't seem possible that Bruce could be sick.

I had to look away from him after a while.

I couldn't stand to see my strength so weak.


	16. Chapter 16

Bruce was out of commission the next night. He slept all day and wouldn't even get up to eat anything. I went and visited him in his room when Alfred gave me stuff to deliver to him. Most of the time he was snoring like a wild boar. But the times I went in and he was awake…that was when he looked the saddest. He was unbelievably pale and his eyes were sunken and dark. He was always sweating at the hand of his merciless fever and his coughing was absolutely pitiful.

I sat with him for a while each time I came in. Either just to make sure he wasn't dying in his sleep, or to fluff his pillows or get him another damp cloth to put over his scorching forehead –it was strange playing Mom again. Clark _never_ got sick, and when he got hurt it was never for long. I didn't get to play this role usually when I was with him.

I can't say I minded though. I thought it was actually fun, taking care of someone like that. It made me feel useful, which was _always_ a rare occurrence in my life.

But pretty soon there became a stronger desire that tugged on me. It kept whispering to me in the very back of my head every time I passed the grandfather clock.

_Tonight would be the perfect night to go take the bike for a spin._

I went and found Alfred after I'd delivered Bruce's soup to him. I asked him what he thought about my idea.

"I don't see why he would be against it," Alfred said with a shrug, "He _did_ give it to you. I hardly think he would give it to you and then be angry if you went for a ride."

I couldn't contain my excitement. I kissed him happily on the cheek and then danced my way out of the sweet smelling kitchen. I hesitated in the threshold and smirked at Alfred.

"If I get in trouble I'm using you as a liability." I winked and then dashed to my room to change into my costume.

Then I raced to the sophisticated den where the clock sat, hearing Alfred's laughter faintly as he heard my pounding steps.

I tore down the steps two at a time. It was amazing that I didn't trip. I speeded over to the place where the Bellabike was parked. It stared at me dejectedly, telling me with sad eyes (headlights) that it felt neglected.

"Sorry, baby," I cooed as I made my way over to it, "I'll never ignore you again."

I grinned at the sleek purple hue in the dim lights of the cave. My big black boots that I'd left down in the Batcave especially for these occasions opened up for my feet as I slipped them quickly inside. Then I threw a leg over the bike and raised myself onto it. I wiggled around until I was on the seat and then prepared it for lift off.

Once I was spun around to the exit of the cave I revved the engine. It snarled underneath me and I bent forward, feeling the purr in my chest. I took off down the stone path, the coolness of air turning harsh and cold as it whipped by my bare arms. Not even close to the cold with Freeze. This was a pleasant cold. A cold laced with exhilaration.

The cave mouth opened when the sensors detected my arrival. In seconds I was out and had warm Gotham air rushing past me. The trees and rocks blurred by me as I sped up. Everything except what was directly ahead of me spun into a mix of colors, like some magnificent artist of speed dipping his paintbrush into the scenery and swirling it around.

The violent air whisked back my hair. I knew I should have been wearing a helmet, but to me, helmets take the excitement out of the ride. I wanted to have the air in my face, running through my hair, ruffling my clothes –it was all part of the glory of the bike.

I rode until I hit the city streets, then I found myself compelled to go on top the first rooftop I could find. I parked the bike behind a dumpster and then entered one of the taller office buildings. I took the elevators which were empty considering the late hours. Once I was on the roof I made my way over to the very edge and crouched on the outcrop. What obligated me to go up to the roof, I wasn't sure. But I was rewarded for my compliance with one of the prettiest sights I'd ever seen.

Looking over Gotham that night, I saw for the first time why Bruce fought for the city. The lights twinkled as far as the eyes could see; they dappled over the horizon and buzzed with the late night activity. Signs flashed on the streets below me, cars glittered under the light, buildings danced with the city's glow and the pulsing beat from the nearest night club seemed to give the city a heart beat.

Through all its filth, Gotham really was spectacular.

The wind that smelled of the river close by raked at my hair and pushed it to the side of my head. The long tendrils flowered out to my right side and rolled like a current across the top of my cheek. I breathed in the scent of the breeze and savored it. Darker and bitterer than Metropolis's comforting fragrance, but Gotham had a delicious aroma of mystery, danger and elation that Metropolis did not possess.

After a few minutes I went back down to the alley way where my bike hid. I took it out and started up again; tearing through the streets as if that night was my last and I wanted to soak up every bit of light and beauty that I could.

I still can't believe I didn't see anything coming. Just a few weeks ago things had been going great, and then it all went to hell. Was I so naive that I thought nothing like that would ever happen again? Had I thought fate had dealt me its last card?

Apparently I was. Because I was just as unprepared to the next blow I was about to get as I was the first time. I was just as vulnerable even though I'd been feeling so strong, and I was just as destroyed by it.

But I was blind to it.

Blinded by my good fortune and the bright neon lights that sparkled in my eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

I called Ruby when I got home from my joy ride. We set up to meet up that night. She said it was urgent and couldn't wait any longer. I can't even explain how nervous I was. Words will never, ever begin to explain my anxiety. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely get my costume on.

I told Bruce where I was going, and told him Clark was coming with me. He was still bedridden and not really showing any signs of improvement. He told me he'd come but I refused. I didn't need to be babied. I was even a little peeved Clark insisted to come with me. But on the other hand I was completely grateful for his presence. I felt safe with him.

Clark drove to the manor and was welcomed inside kindly by Alfred. He changed into costume as well and then I took him down to the Batcave. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I swore it echoed in the depths of the cave. I swallowed, wondering if Clark's super hearing was good enough to detect the pounding.

I don't think he needed super hearing to tell I was nervous though. I was sweating like a man and fidgeting with everything on my wardrobe as we made our way down the stairs. He floated with his arms crossed beside me, watching me in obvious curiosity as I got the bike ready.

The silver necklace around my neck seemed to mock me and tease me as my hands shook on the handlebars. I tugged the helmet down over my head. I knew Clark would probably force me to wear it anyways.

"Where'd the bike come from?" Clark asked.

I'd called him the night he left and briefed him on the _entire_ story. But that was before I found out about the motorcycle. I smirked uneasily at Clark and clenched at the handles.

"Bruce's apology," I said. I tried to laugh but it came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat and swore under my breath at my nerves. Then without another word to Clark, desperate to have the harsh wind calm my raging anxiety, I revved the engine and sped down to the exit of the cave.

The Gotham wind did nothing to calm me that night, and neither did Clark's ever-present shadow as he flew over me. I was so nervous I swear I almost crashed twenty times. I couldn't concentrate on anything except the picture that I had tucked under my pillow. Ruby's hauntingly beautiful eyes seemed programmed into mind. They were all I saw.

We arrived at Gotham Park much faster than I was happy with. I parked the bike by a nearby tree, making sure to let the shadows take it from view. Then I turned and narrowed my eyes against the growing darkness. I almost wished she decided not to come.

"There," Clark murmured.

My heart electrocuted itself. I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds as my eyes locked on a far away figure, just gently shaded by moonlight. The figure rose, the curves of her body silhouetted by the light. I swallowed hard and started walking, hearing Clark's cape swish comfortingly behind me.

I could see her clearly when we were close. I hung back when the features of her face were recognizable under the light. I lifted my hand out of instinct, and almost laughed at myself.

It was an old ritual. When meeting any member outside the gang's hide out, it was unwritten law that you show each other your tattoo. Just so there was no fraud or unwanted visitors getting in on our drug deals. I'd almost done it, it was so habitual. But it didn't matter now. None of the gang stuff did.

Ruby knew what I was doing. She smiled gently at me and pulled down her lip. The black of her tattoo was visible, and almost identical to mine. I smiled back half-heartedly and pulled down my own lip. She came forward then and without hesitation gathered me into her arms.

The most wonderful scent entered my senses as I buried my face in her hair. It was more familiar and wonderful than any scent had ever been. Tears of happiness threatened to break past my usually strong barriers as I held her; I squeezed the stuffing out of the poor girl.

We hugged for a long time and then finally broke apart. She held me in place and stared, tears gathering in her own eyes.

"What a pretty 'lil thing you turned out to be, huh?" she said affectionately, sniffing hard and giving a bout of laughter.

"I could say the same for you," I said, my voice quaking a bit.

It was true, I always remembered finding Ruby the prettiest out of all the girls in the group. Her beauty was just old fashioned; no guy could ever deny it. It was so simple, so familiar –just pure, unadulterated perfection with a dappling of cutesy freckles and a tiny mouth.

I couldn't believe I was actually with her, her skin brushing mine, her smile dancing with mine.

She looked behind me where Clark stood. She gave him an excited wave.

"Howdy, Superman," she said happily.

He smiled back and gave a nod. I was glad I had Superman as my back up instead of Batman. Bruce would have probably scared the shit out of her.

We made our way to the picnic table and sat. Clark came and sat next to me, but hung back from the conversation as we caught up with each other.

I told her all about how I got involved with Superman, and why I hadn't come back. Her smile was a sad one as she listened and she nodded at my explanation.

"Everything kinda fell apart when you left; we lost all our deals and stuff and we didn't have the money to pay for the rent in that crappy place. But I think it was in your best interest not to come back. Kyle was pretty pissed about you leaving and since he's like a god everyone else started to be too."

I winced, thinking of all my old friends and the leader of the gang, Kyle, turned against me. It was pretty spineless to just go running off like that after a beating. And I had known fully well when I decided to stay with Clark that I was leaving my entire family without a necessity that they'd been counting on for ten years. My powers.

I couldn't blame them for being angry with me. But I was so thankful Ruby wasn't.

"Why did you leave?" I asked after a moment, crossing my legs under the table even though I'd told myself I was going to stop fidgeting.

Ruby heaved a low sigh and twisted her lips to the side.

"Same reason as you, I guess. I mean the guys never laid a hand on me, not like they did to you –but it was just…everything was crumbling. We didn't even have enough food for everyone anymore, and stealing was like a process Kyle and the big guys had to learn all over again without you to just get them everything they wanted. And like you, someone offered me a new beginning."

I saw her eyes light up as she said this. The hopelessness of her story faded with the glitter in her oceanic eyes and I smiled lightly. I knew her well enough.

"The Wally guy?" I asked.

She nodded and for a moment, it was her and me three years ago sitting in the crappy motel room. She leaned forward as she always did when about to give juicy details or describe something she was excited about. Her eyes would get big, her lips would widen for the words to have no hindrance as they spilled…and we would _gush_. It was such an old pose for the two of us, leaned together, talking about boys.

"He's such a sweet heart, Bells. I was walkin' around one night because I was so tired of Kyle fighting with everyone and he was just standing near the old grinder shop. And I must have looked hungry, or almost dead because he offered me something to eat. And we just got to talking…I mean I never told him anything there, but he suspected something I think.

So he said he'd meet me again sometime and we could talk more. And we did this for like a month and no one ever asked where I was going so it just got so easy. And one day I just packed my stuff and went out to meet him. And I told him everything. "

I found myself smiling at her story. It was the only positive and hopeful thing I'd been supplied with. Learning that she herself found a happy "ending" so to speak was very comforting. I couldn't help but keep grinning at her and I leaned forward.

"Details," I pressed.

She laughed, but the sound was hollow. It didn't sound like a real laugh, but she was making an attempt. Something other than joy was flickering in her dancing eyes, but I couldn't put a finger on it. The qualm was gone in an instant though as she leaned back and the shadows took her face in their hands.

"You saw the picture, right? Well he's like that but ten thousand times better in real life."

I laughed gently and heaved a large sigh.

"I'm happy for you, Ruby," I said, genuinely relieved at the way her life had panned out, "He sounds like a good guy."

There was silence. I couldn't read her face because all I could see where the blurry contours of her nose and mouth. The rest was blocked out by darkness. But her hush was eerie, and I felt my brow furrow as I tried to erase the darkness with my eyes. I couldn't, and her silence continued.

"Ruby?" I asked, leaning back a bit in fear.

I heard her take a breath in. It was unsteady.

"I've gotta cut the bullshit Bells, I came to tell you something and…_Jesus_ I can't even bring myself to do it."

She swore a few times under her breath and her face finally came forward as she leaned and put it into her hands. I felt Clark shift beside me. He was suddenly alert. No one spoke. Ruby raised her head after a few moments of disgusting silence and I thought I saw her wipe at her eyes.

"The only person I told where I was going was Molly," she said. Her voice was strong and stable but Ruby had always been good and hiding her emotions. It was something the gang life imposed on everyone –the iron will to bottle stuff up.

Molly's face came back to me in memory. She was four years younger than me and as cute as a button. She was fifteen going on eleven it looked like. She had big, round childish eyes and she was just under five feet. She was always very quiet, I remembered. But when she did talk she was brilliant.

Once I was old enough and ready to be on my own, Ruby and I still stayed best friends. But Ruby, driven by her maternal instincts, moved onto little Molly and took her under her wing because she was so young when she entered the group.

I didn't say anything and waited for her to continue.

"Two nights ago she came all the way from Metropolis to where I was staying with Wally. She was a mess. It was raining so she was soaked to the bone. There was blood all over her face, her knees were scraped and she'd obviously been running for a while because she was panting when Wally answered the door. We took her inside and it took forever to calm the poor thing down."

I shifted uncomfortably on the bench. The cool breeze that was rolling gently over Gotham suddenly turned bitingly cold. A peculiar feeling off icy fingers sliding down my breast bone made me shiver.

"She told…she told me these men came asking about you. Men in dark suits with a big black van. No one knew how they'd found the gang or how they even knew to come asking for you there."

Clark stiffened at my side. A wave of nausea rolled inside my stomach. _The man from the diamond showcase._ He'd been wearing a dark suit.

Ruby continued.

"Molly said that the men told them they were from government organization. And they started asking Kyle all these weird questions like when the gang found you, what your real name was, when they first noticed your powers, when you first started using them to get stuff, and all that shit. She said everyone was really scared, especially Caleb. The men said they knew _everything_ so no one had to be afraid. They said they were just "collecting as much information as they could". Molly said it sounded like they were like…experts on you, or something. Like they've known about your for a long time.

Then apparently Kyle thought the gang was getting busted and got really defensive. I mean Molly said they didn't look like police but Kyle got paranoid anyway and started getting really rude and…"

A light mist had started over the park.

Clark was leaned forward now, his bright eyes almost as dark and hard as Bruce's usually were. I was leaned back even farther now, my eyes wide as I thought of the weird government guy I'd come across earlier. My breath was becoming shallow and I felt like I had to fight to get a whole lungful. My knuckles were white because I was squeezing the bench under me so hard.

Ruby ran her hands over her face and I heard her take a sharp breath. She kneaded her forehead with her knuckles and fixated her eyes on the table.

"Kyle started yelling and told them they better get the fuck out because no one was going to tell them anything. And Molly said one of the men stepped forward and grabbed Kyle by the throat and asked him again to answer their questions, and they wanted to know when you'd left and who knew where you went. Kyle spit at the guy and said he wasn't answering to anything, and that no one knew where you went.

So…Molly said the guy with Kyle by the throat motioned for another one to come up. And he took out this metal thing and pressed it to Kyle's head."

Ruby had to stop again. This time it was obvious she was wiping her eyes. Clark's hand squeezed my knee reassuringly under the table, but I was not comforted by it.

Ruby raised her face to me and then reached for my hands that I had brought up to clutch the table edge. Warily I moved them towards her and she gripped them tight in her cool grip. She started up again.

"Molly said there was this blue light that came from it and it zapped Kyle, she said it sounded like he was being electrocuted. The man dropped him and…he…he was dead. So then Caleb went for the guy with the metal thing and tried to wrestle it from him.

But another man grabbed him and they pressed the metal thing to his head. And they asked _him_ all the questions and told him they'd let him live if they answered. He said he wouldn't. And…Bella I'm sorry…they k-killed Caleb too."

I pulled my hands away from hers slowly. I felt my eyes go wide, but I was staring at nothing. They were unfocused as the world spun in front of me. I closed them tightly and let the memories flood through my body. His face swelled in my head. Dark green eyes, a strong chin and a head full of boyish brown curls that spoke of his innocence just as well as his eyes spoke of his destruction.

He was my first taste of romance in the world. We grew up, intertwined with one another, and ran to each other's arms for comfort and security. He protected me as much as he could, just as Ruby had.

He was perfect. We never fought, we never disagreed and I never lost the flutter in my chest when he was near me.

And he was just as misguided as me, and we fed off each other. But to us, our relationship was the most faultless thing in the entire world. I'd never forgiven myself for leaving him, especially for Clark. I wondered if he ever suspected a romance between Clark and me once he and Ruby figured out who the girl fighting beside Superman was.

Guilt grabbed me by the throat and the most overwhelming wave of grief I've ever felt washed over me. I gagged on my own spit and leaned forward to try and get a breath, my eyes open now.

_Dead._

Two lives squashed because of me. The leader and backbone that kept my family together, and the sole light of optimism that came from my first love. They were both destroyed because of _me_. My powers.

Again came the overwhelming fear of mine, but this time it came full force. It hit me so hard that I clutched my chest in pain. A whimper fluttered from my mouth with at the newly opened wound.

"No one else got hurt though, Bells. Kevin told them everything they wanted to know they would leave, and they did."

I wasn't listening. I was curling and uncurling my fists. I pressed my fingernails so hard into my palms that I drew blood.

"It wasn't your fault Bella. How were you supposed to know these guys were after you and knew about the gang? Don't you dare start blaming yourself for them dying. Kyle made his choice to protect the gang and you, and so did Caleb."

I shoved up from the picnic table. Unwelcome heat crawled over my chest and up my throat. My face went dark with the warmth and my entire body suddenly felt on fire. I trembled as I made my way over to the bike and almost lost my footing. My face was burning.

"Bella?" Ruby called.

"Give me a minute," I called back. I was barely able to get the sentence out, my breathing was so convulsive. I'd take three short breaths in, one out, four in, a half of one out.

There was silence and then I heard Clark faintly start to question Ruby.

"Could you tell me everything Molly told you about those government men?"

I sent my foot into my helmet that I left on the ground. It spun into a tree with an unsatisfying cracking sound. I heaved up my bike and jumped on. My hands, sticky with blood, wound around the handles and the engine started up under me. The sound was a vicious roar then. It mirrored the sound in my chest that threatened to break free.

I didn't want to say goodbye to Ruby. I just had to get away.

I didn't plan on coming back.

I tore through the park, weaving through flower beds and grassy walkways. I hit the street in a few seconds and swerved dangerously into the lane. Once I was there I picked up speed until the light misting rain came at me like needles, and my hair whipped back so violently from my head my head reared back with it.

I pressed my hand harder around the acceleration, hunching my heaving shoulders down close to the bike. The tears that came hurtled back across my temples and into my hair as the wind ripped them back.

The beauty of the flashing lights and the thrum of the night clubs did nothing for me that night. I barely even realized I was passing them as I rode. To me it seemed like I rode that entire way in blackness, like some never ending tunnel that I would never be free of.

I sped the entire way back to the manor and once I was safe inside the Batcave and parked, I leaned forward and rested my pounding head against the handle bars. I choked on a wet sob that ran like a tremor from my toes to the top of my head.

For someone who said they don't cry ever, I sure cry a lot, don't I?

There was no keeping it in that night though. No willpower, no matter how strong and how advanced, could have stood up to that wild, raging fear that drove its sharp fingers into the soft flesh of my chest.

I finally pulled myself off the bike. I could barely see where I was going. The tears were coming so fast they filled my entire vision with rolling waves –and endless sea of anguish poured over my vision. If I could, I would have drowned myself in it.

I dragged myself up the stairs and into the warm den of the manor. I could hear Clark's voice echoing in the vast living room on the other side of the hall. He'd obviously flown to the manor after he'd seen me speed off and was there to tell Bruce what happened.

I held my sobs in until I was past the living room. When I passed I could still faintly hear the conversation.

"What do you think they're really associated with?" Clark was asking.

"I find it hard to believe that they're funded by or even part of the government," Bruce's voice was still husky from his illness but it was just as dark as ever, "I don't see why the government would ever authorize and give money to a group like that just for Bella's powers. And if they have, there wouldn't be any murder involved for fear of _cut_ funding. This has got to be something underground…something secret."

"You said you saw one of them?"

"Yeah, they came to one of the calls we went out on and asked her if she'd come with them. So they know where she is. Or at least which city she's in. Someone's done a lot of research."

I bolted up the stairs. I didn't want to hear anything else.

I slammed the door to my room and the bang seemed to shake everything else inside. I looked around with wild, red eyes and felt my breath pick up again. I wanted to destroy everything.

I wanted to rip off the covers on the bed, break all the perfume and make up that was strewn over the top of the dresser, rip up my clothes, break the mirror, overturn the mattress, throw the lamp across the room and shred the curtains. But I simply didn't have the energy.

I wandered over to the wide seat under the big windows. I threw open the two doors and let the rain surge at me. The cold splattered across my bare chest and my burning face. I sunk back into the seat, letting the rain pelt against my side, and drew my knees up to my chest. I buried my face in the space between them. Goosebumps rose along my arms as the rain started to soak my side.

A growl of thunder rose in the air faintly. It buzzed inside my aching chest and filled up the hole that the news I'd just received had created. There were a few moments of just assailing rain and then the sky filled up with evocative light. So hauntingly silver that I raised my head to it.

A movie seemed to fan out in the briefly illuminated sky. Caleb's strong body writhed in the hands of the man in the dark suit who had approached me. He cried out and screamed my name as the tool was pressed to his throat. The light faded and the next crack of thunder served as his miserable screams of pain.

I killed him. It wasn't the men in the suits, it wasn't their special tool. It was _me_.

My existence, my presence, my horrible flaw that lay in the flesh of my palms. Because of me and my stupid powers…two people were dead. One took my peace of mind with him, and the other took my heart.

I didn't talk to anyone that night.

Clark came up and rubbed my back for a while. He told me things that every part of me refused to accept.

"It wasn't your fault….you couldn't have saved them if you tried…you just have to move on…"

I didn't speak to him. I didn't even acknowledge his presence. My eyes stayed glued to the dark Gotham sky outside the window. And the only sign of life in them was when the lightening lit up and the illumination reflected in my eyes.

Clark left for the night. And the process repeated itself with Alfred. The poor guy came up and brought me dinner. I didn't look at him. My face stayed turned to the window, as if I was hypnotized by a skeletal siren of the sky. Alfred didn't speak to me much, but he made an effort.

"I brought you some soup and some of those brownies we saved…I know you love chocolate…you'll catch a cold that if you leave it open…..Oh, Bella, everything is going to be okay."

I didn't answer and I didn't nod. I stared out the window. Like some frozen, graying statue, tarnished by my own misery. I wasn't even in my head enough to feel guilty for ignoring everyone like a zombie. My thoughts were _far _away from the window and from the room.

My hours-on-end staring were actually spent inside my head. I was filtering through old memories of their faces and their laughter. I dove through reminiscences of his lips against mine, the taste of his mouth, the feeling of his skin and the thickness of his hair. I remembered the warmth of his soft palm that cradled mine, protecting it from everything ugly outside. I remembered our first kiss and the long talks we had about our future.

Well, the future came and went. And I couldn't save him, though I claimed I was a hero. And then…there was no longer a future. The hope ran right out of me, thick and hot, and fell out of the window, mixing right along with the rain.

Then, Bruce came into the room.

It was well past eleven by then, and the rain was still hard and fast outside. I hadn't moved or averted my gaze since I first sat down. And even though I heard his footsteps stop close to me, and could feel his heat move over me –a heat that I wanted to bury myself in so very badly- I did not move my eyes from the sky.

He crouched beside me.

He didn't' try to tell me it wasn't my fault. He didn't tell me that everything would be okay. He didn't try to say things to make me smile. He didn't rub my back to comfort me. He said two words.

"I'm sorry."

I felt something brush against the top of my leg. This out of everything that had been going on around me before finally broke me out of my hypnosis. My sore eyes shifted to his hand which was outstretched to me. I hesitated, studying the lines in his skin.

I gently slipped my palm against his, and his long fingers wrapped around my hand.

He squeezed and the warmth that surrounded my cold hand was filled with such a beautifully comforting _empathy_.

There was a future once again.


	18. Chapter 18

A party.

After about a week in my lethargic, depressed _slump_, Bruce was right: it was just what the doctor prescribed. A party was the one thing that could probably revive the dead shell I'd become. A shell with no energy to do anything but laze around and feel sorry for herself. A party was exactly what I needed.

But this was not the kind of party I needed. I needed a party with all my friends, dressed in the grungiest clothes I could find, sneaking into a club so I could shake my ass until the sun came back up and with copious…_copious _amounts of booze in my system. _That_ was a party.

I had no friends at Bruce's elaborate fundraiser. I had him, and Alfred. Alfred was too busy handing out drinks to have me tagging along, and Bruce was too busy hobnobbing with everyone that had showed up. Which seemed to be all of Gotham.

And I wasn't wearing grungy clothes. I was wearing a _black satin cocktail dress_. I couldn't be mad at anyone but myself for that one though. I _had_ picked it out myself once I convinced Alfred to take me out to a store so I could buy a dress for the occasion. But it was a quick in and out trip because he was paranoid even with my hair hidden by a hat and my face shadowed by a high collared jacket, that someone would recognize me. So I pretty much had to pick the first black thing they had that was my size.

It looked innocent enough when I took it out of the plastic wrapping. But once I put it on –sweet Jesus did I look weird. And unnervingly sultry. That wasn't the idea at _all_. I hadn't thought of my body proportions when grabbing the dress. And I hadn't had the chance to try it on. Once I had it on (of course I procrastinated and didn't put it on until the night of the party) I noticed how deep the plunge of the square neckline was, and vice versa, how much of my back was exposed. The black material hugged tight to every curve and I had trouble walking –like some shapely smear of ink bumbling around the room. It was worse with heels.

As for the location? No club, no pulsing music, no strobe lights –it was the manor. The place really seemed to come alive when it was filled with people and their warmth. But that didn't make me any less uneasy. I still would have rather been in the club. Oh yeah -there was also no ass shaking to be spoken of. The music was a soft jazz band that was playing in the spacious ballroom and a few couples danced around in the crush of the party. But it was old person kind of dancing. No grinding, no sweat, no thick beats juggling their bones –they were just spinning like something out of a perfectly embarrassing fairy tale.

I took one step inside that big room with all the people and almost turned right back around. I felt _so_ awkward it was unbelievable. The dress was one hell of a number, especially for someone like me who _never_ dressed up for anything. Also my hair was pulled into the tightest bun in history and it was already giving me a head ache. It took me a good half an hour to get my huge mass of hair into a disguised ball of blackberry locks –and about a billion black bobby pins to keep it all in place. I longed to have it swishing across my back, but we obviously couldn't risk the identity thing. We couldn't risk it so much that Bruce had me wear _contacts_ to change my eyes from my familiar honeyed amber, to a strange murky blue. I wondered how in the hell _any_ of these rich stiffs would have ever gotten a close enough glimpse while he and I were out on the streets at night to see the color of my eyes. But you just didn't argue with Bruce.

But there was something that kept me in the party that night. As strange as I felt, there was a call to me from a sliver tray that was seated on the little table beside one of the lounge couches. A few people sat there, chatting sweetly and laughing too hard in their expensive suits and billion dollar dresses. I snuck over, slinking in my slutty black dress, and snatched a glittering glass of champagne off the tray.

I turned away quickly before they would notice I was there and then looked around for either Bruce or Alfred. Once my eyes confirmed that they weren't anywhere near, I downed the glass.

I set down the empty glass down somewhere inconspicuous and shook my shoulders a bit, feeling the familiar little buzz tickle down the length of my chest and fall like a glittery butterfly to the pit of my stomach. I ran my tongue along my lips. The sweet taste relaxed me immediately, and I wanted another.

So I went back and got one and downed the little sucker too. Then I grabbed one more. This one though, I decided to nurse. I retreated to the outskirts of the room, observing the rich of Gotham over the rim of my sparkling glass. I scouted Bruce out almost instantly in the crowd of people. He was practically glowing, the sod. He was so much more cordial when he was hosting an event or surrounded by people. If it was an act, he was damn good at putting on a show.

He smiled, clapped people on the shoulders, kissed ladies knuckles and I could hear his deep –though reserved- laughter sometimes from where I stood.

It was weird to watch him like that, but at the same time comforting.

The jazz band wasn't so much of a jazz band like I had thought. They started playing a few songs that I recognized and that I could –badly- hum along to. I felt more comfortable by the minute. I'm not really sure if that was the champagne at work, or if it was just my appeased attitude that no one had bothered me yet. No one had laughed at my dress, no one had pinpointed me out as an X-druggie trying to pull off as one of 'them' –no one had really paid me any mind at all.

That was before Bruce –making his rounds through the party- came over. I was coming to the last bit of my fourth glass at that point, about an hour or so into the party. I was surprised at how close he had gotten in the last fifteen minutes. If the couple in front of him broke then he'd be able to see me. In a panic I set the glass down on the floor and inched away from it as nonchalantly as I could.

I smoothed my dress over my hips and raised my chin, trying to shake the tipsiness off. And not a moment too soon.

"Ah, Bella!"

The couple Bruce had been talking to turned around, parting their bodies so I could see Bruce. His smile was genuine and almost eerie as he waved me over. I prayed to the god of heels and skimpy cocktail dresses that I wouldn't trip and fall flat on my face as I meekly stepped over to the group.

"This is my good friend Bella Coore," Bruce said to the couple. I winced at his use of my real last name and the ties it held, but ignored it –I knew we had a story to protect back in Metropolis where everyone assumed I was visiting family in another state.

His warm fingertips brushed pointedly at the back of my bare arm, drawing me gingerly closer to the group.

Little things like this were no longer awkward between us. It wasn't strange or uncomfortable for him to push on the small of my back when leading me somewhere, or hook his hand on the inside of my arm, and it didn't feel weird for me to touch his shoulder when I wanted to ask him something, or give him a playful punch if he said something I wasn't happy with. So I didn't react the way I would have a few weeks ago with the touch.

Although his warmth still sent an electric current up the length of my arm.

"Wonderful to meet you, Bella," the older lady said with a sweet smile.

Hmm. Maybe all these rich stiffs weren't so bad. That smile seemed nice enough.

"Nice to…er…meet you too," I said. My usual lazy slang would have sounded out of place with these highly educated people. But I wanted to use it _so_ bad.

The introduction to the guy ended up much the same. I needed about two more glasses of champagne before the greetings were going to come easier for me. And if I couldn't break away from Bruce there was no way that was going to happen. I wasn't so sure he would be pleased about me drinking at his party.

Bruce took me around for about 45 minutes or so, introducing me to everyone. I don't know what he was trying to do. Was this my punishment for all the things I'd done wrong while I was with him? Was I deserving of all the embarrassment? Because about half of the people thought we were a couple and wouldn't stop telling him, straight to his face as if I wasn't standing right there next to them, that I was very pretty and that he'd done well. He'd politely tell them it wasn't like that, but of course he couldn't go into details.

_Well actually, you see –I'm Batman. And she's a crimefighter as well. See she fought alongside Superman who's real name is Clark Kent if you're interested. And we decided she sucked at defending herself so she was sent over here so I could train her. It's all very simple, really._

Yeah. I'm sure that would have gone over really well. So I just had to grit my teeth as the unconvinced people exchanged looks between each other when Bruce assured them that we weren't a couple. Didn't I look a bit young to be his date? Well…I guess I wasn't really so young when I thought about it. I was so used to thinking of myself as a little immature teeny-bopper. I was now a young woman, sleek and prominent in her black cocktail dress with her hair piled into a neat, prim bun.

My legs were getting tired. I was sure we'd talked to every single stinking person in the room. And Bruce had had more champagne than I did. Everyone offered him some when he came around to speak with them. He really was a people person when he tried. I couldn't say the same for Batman. Or the Bruce that I'd become familiar with for that matter.

And he was much friendlier when he was buzzed. He even asked me for a dance.

Now there was a surefire way to extinguish the suspicion of us being a couple. Way to go drunk Bruce. You're just as brilliant as they say, aren't you? I was so frustrated. I think it was because he was getting all the champagne and I had to decline when it was offered to me. I was jealous, and blaming him for dragging me to the stupid party and causing me to buy a slutty dress and making me wear contacts and…

But all my hostility faded when he led me to the little space in front of the band. His hands were gentle as one cupped my bare shoulder and the other curved around my side. I fought back a blush and the urge to faint.

Damn where was some vodka when you needed it?

"Having fun?" he asked as we started to sway gently with the music. He stayed a good distance from me, rather than press up close like the other couples were doing. But it was still captivating nonetheless.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Loads," I said. He knew perfectly well I was miserable being dragged around in heels and a dress. He was doing it to torture me, I was sure of it.

The song the band was playing sparked my interest. I knew it well. Look After You, by The Fray. Definitely not as good as the actual band singing it, but the melody hit home for me anyway. I relaxed in Bruce's warm grip. He seemed to notice and gave me a little nod of approval.

"People seem to like you," he said, trying to make conversation as we gently rocked together to the beat.

"Probably because I'm friendlier with two glass- I mean…probably because I actually…er…look presentable?" My blabbering could hardly be considered a _save_ from almost slipping up about the champagne, but it apparently went over his head. He just shrugged his muscled shoulders that I had my hands gingerly resting on, and continued to dance.

"You're quite the charmer yourself," I said, voicing my curiosity about his sudden change in demeanor.

"I'm a good actor," he said, but there was something teasing in those big blue eyes of his.

We danced in silence the rest of the song. So I took to listening to the lyrics, and smirking at the irony. It seemed like every time I listened to a freaking song in this place it related to me in someway.

_There now, steady love, so few come and don't go  
Will you won't you, be the one I always know  
When I'm losing my control, the city spins around  
You're the only one who knows, you slow it down…._

_It's always have and never hold  
You've begun to feel like home  
What's mine is yours to leave or take  
What's mine is yours to make your own _

_Oh, oh, oh_

_Oh, oh, oh_

_Be my baby_

_I'll look after you _

My heart fluttered with the last few lines. I looked up at Bruce and he looked down at me. There was nothing readable in his gaze, but my mind kept drifting as the last few notes of the song faded out.

_I'll look after you._

God, when did I turn out to be such a sap?

Our dance ended, and we parted ways. He said something about going to chat with some friends. I didn't follow him. I felt tingly all over when I was finally away from him. The places where he had held me while we danced, just my shoulder and my waist, seared with the weirdest sensation.

"I need a drink," I murmured to myself, smiling ruefully as I saw the tray.

I didn't really care who saw then, I just needed something to shake that dance off me. It wasn't so much an awkward feeling. I wasn't mortified, it wasn't a 'How could I have done that?' sort of thing. The feeling was…_hopeful. _Like I believed that Bruce would ever have the slightest interest in me. Pfft.

My lips were curled back as if I was ready to snarl at my own stupid thoughts. Thankfully before anyone noticed there was a glass at my mouth.

Fifth of the night turned into sixth as I made my way around the room. I listened to the band for a bit and even had the nerve to talk to a few people that I'd been introduced to. By then I'd had so much champagne my head was reeling. I probably smelled like it, and every time I ran my tongue over my lips I tasted it. I'm sure it was sloshing around in my eyes.

And that's when I walked by a mirror. I didn't believe it was me I was staring at.

I looked so…old. Graceful. It was weird having my hair up so high; I could see the nape of my neck and the roll of the smooth skin over my back. And the heels and the plain necklace I had around my throat –such simple elements that changed the weirdo misfit girl with the crazy long hair and grungy sweat pants into Isabella. A woman. With a champagne glass curled in her slender hand and everything.

It freaked me out so bad that I pushed through the crowd in a frenzy, determined to get inside the kitchen and away from everyone. I burst through the doors and shut them tightly behind me, taking in a calming breath.

"Evening, Miss Sweet," a familiar voice echoed the slam of the doors.

I slumped in relief. Alfred was exactly what I needed.

"I've never seen you in a dress before," he was saying as I turned around from the doors. He was preparing more trays of champagne and my mouth buzzed –not that I needed anymore to drink.

"Don't get used to it," I grumbled, and sat myself dejectedly down on the stool in front of the granite surfaced island, "It's probably _never_ going to happen again."

I was surprised about how good my speech was despite how freakin tipsy I was. Everything was pretty clear. Just a bit fuzzy around the edges.

"I think you look wonderful, Miss Sweet," he said with one of his warm smiles, "And I believe Master Bruce thinks the same."

I gave him the fakest grin on the face of the planet and made the shape of a gun with my fingers and held the shape to my throat. But his last comment made me lower my hand. I stared at him quizzically –well, as quizzically as a girl with six glasses of champagne could.

"I don't think he's _seen_ me all night, he's like everywhere at once," I argued, licking my lips in a growing stupor.

Alfred's eyes gleamed and he set another glass on a tray, "On the contrary. I don't think he's taken his eyes off you since you came downstairs."

I gulped. Six glasses should have sustained the blush that broke wildly out over my cheeks. And six glasses should have also subdued my jump as the doors of the kitchen suddenly opened. I looked with wild eyes to Bruce. On the outside I gave him a small wave, but inside I was screaming bloody murder. Couldn't everyone leave me to get as drunk as I pleased?

Alfred skillfully excused himself without a word to either of us.

Damn him.

"Why are you in here?" Bruce asked. His voice was low and measured, but there was the slightest slur to the last bit and I could see the champagne sparkling in his own eyes.

"I just feel really awkward out there," I said, crinkling my nose and turning my gaze to the counter.

He strolled over elegantly and with a sexy prominence that only he could pull off. Of course my head was already reeling from my champagne escapade, and now he had to make it that much harder for me to stay concentrated. I looked up at him from where I sat.

"You blend in seamlessly," he said with a soft smile, an understanding one.

That was one thing I liked about him the most. He understood almost everything about me; I never really had to explain myself. He usually always knew before I had a chance to open my mouth.

"That's the problem," I started, even though I knew he would already know, "It's just so freaking weird to be in heels and a dress, talking to all these rich people –when I was probably telling them to buy me booze and give me the money out of their wallets a few years ago. I just…I just feel _dirty_. Like I don't belong here, yah know?"

He nodded evenly, his eyes gazed over my head but I knew his attention was still devoted to me. His lips pressed together in a smooth line and his jaw tightened a bit in thought.

"I'm sorry," he said. The effortless way he said it surprised me, even with all the drinks in his system. "I haven't been fair to you. This supposed to be a fun time for you; it's supposed to cheer you up."

I went to extinguish his apology with one of my own when he gestured to me with a nod of his head. I rose obediently. I knew enough of his body language by now. I really didn't want to go back in there, but there was something in his face that made me trust him.

"I'm not going to allow you to have a bad time at my fundraiser," he said a bit too cheerfully.

I gave a champagne induced _giggle_ –good lord- and followed him easily to the doors.

"We can dance again, go raid the food table –what ever makes you happy," he said as we reached the closed exit.

I had to smile. He was really making an effort to pick up my spirits. I didn't care if he was plastered; it was still a nice gesture. Especially for him. It made me feel good that he cared enough to come in and see why I'd left. I reached forward and put one hand on the golden doorknob. Then, he spoke again. And I froze.

"You look beautiful."

I don't know what the hell made me turn around. But I did. My hand still lingered on the doorknob, but it hung against it limply and without life. I spun a bit until I faced him. His warm breath fanned against my face. There was the distinct smell of champagne, but there was a sharper scent –there was more than just bubbly goodness in that man's system. He'd obviously been hanging around groups where there were shot glasses. It wasn't an unpleasant smell. I actually liked it.

I leaned in a bit, just enjoying it. Then I lifted my heavy eyelids. My gaze hit his face and I felt my knees quiver a bit. His strong jaw caught the light brilliantly, as did his perfectly combed hair. His hard blue eyes seemed to be melted into something entirely new, something I wanted to explore.

The last thing I remember before I stopped thinking was: _damn he's handsome._

Then I leaned in.

He leaned in.

His smooth lips parted and found mine in a sudden whirl of curiosity. He deepened the kiss and as he did I eased back gently to the door. My shoulder blades pressed up against the wood as Bruce's body came closer. His long hand found the base of my skull and he pressed gently to tip my head closer to his as we swapped spit.

My own hand found his chest and I pressed my palm against the cloth of his suit just gingerly, just needing to touch _something _solid as my mind lifted of solid ground and spun aimlessly. I could feel his heart in my palm and it beat thickly, as if providing a cadence for our wild spurt of romance.

My head spun in rich crimson hues, as if I'd just dove into a mix of paints. They smothered my body with his scent –it was musky, but rewardingly masculine. I felt like I could drink it up it was so strong. It was all my body reacted to, since my mind had already been blown away and could not have done anything for me. I was on instinct now, pure hormonal instinct.

His hand fell from the base of my skull to the top of my spine, and from there his fingertips dribbled down the bare skin of my back that the dress exposed. His face was warm against mine, as was his mouth but the chills scurried across my skin anyway.

I deepened my end of the kiss and moved my own hand up from his chest and to his jaw. The corner of it rested in my palm and my fingers gently flitted over his ear. We stayed in that position for who knows how long and then…

Someone coughed.

I ripped away from Bruce as if he'd shocked me, thus resulting in me banging my head against the door. I swore and ducked my head, cradling the sore spot as best I could.

"My deepest apologies," came a voice, and then a chuckle all too familiar.

Then, quoting from a while back, Alfred said, "I didn't know you had it in you, Sir."


	19. Chapter 19

I couldn't stay in the manor any longer. The awkwardness was maddening. Unbearable. In the days that followed the party, I couldn't bring myself to talk to Alfred. And that's when I knew I was S.O.L, when I couldn't even go and talk to _him_. I was going insane just hiding in my room all day to avoid the awkward coughs, the wary glances, Alfred's "all-knowing" smiles and the conversation I knew needed to take place eventually.

That's why I didn't tell anyone that I was going out that night. I wanted to keep my stupid freaking dignity so bad that I didn't tell anyone where I was going. So when I didn't come home that night…no one knew where to find me.

But I guess I can't really start that without finishing what happened at the party. As much as I'd like to never, _ever_ think about it again.

While I was still bent double with the pain from smacking my head, Bruce turned around slowly and cleared his throat. I raised myself after the pain subdued. I wish I could have seen my face. I would have probably died laughing if I remembered it after maybe thirty years had passed. Or forty. I was absolutely mortified, and my face was on fire. I felt like someone had just shoved my head into a fire pit. But what burned the most was my mouth.

I brought my fingertips warily to my bottom lip, touching it for some sense of security I guess. Was my mouth still there? Good lord he was a good kisser, even when he was drunk.

_Imagine what it would be like sober._

I shook my head to clear my raging thoughts that were still whining at me to go into his arms again. But the movement only rattled my brain a bit and sparked a head ache right between my eyes.

"Yes…well we were…uh…," Bruce stammered in response to Alfred's whim. I'd never seen him at a loss for words…_ever_. He cleared his throat again and stepped back a bit and straightened his tie. If I wasn't so humiliated, it would have been funny to watch him.

I glanced at Alfred. The monster was trying _so_ hard to keep from laughing, I could tell. Bruce turned back to Alfred; his large shadow crawled over me. The surprise of the moment had momentarily sobered us up. My head was crystal clear now, despite how absolutely gone it had been seconds earlier. Bruce seemed more alert too, his blue eyes were no longer swimming –they were locked hard, and confused on me.

I straightened myself and pushed off the door. I brushed my dress meticulously and drew a long breath through my nose. Mistake. His scent dove into my head and messed with my control. I unsteadily tried to push past him, aware that my cheeks were still blood red.

"Wait…Bella," Bruce said, trying to hold me back. He sounded apologetic, but when I looked back his eyes were whirling with the alcohol again.

I shook my head and pushed his shoulder a bit so I could squeeze by him.

"_You_ go get another drink, _I'm_ gonna go back to my room and see if I can drown myself in the bathtub," I said.

I narrowed my eyes at Alfred as I passed him to get to the other exit closer to the stairs. I had to refrain from quickening into an all out sprint to get away from the situation. He only chuckled as I quickly opened the door. I threw a wary look over my shoulder to see Bruce staring with raised eyebrows after me.

Yeah.

Queen of Humiliation, that's me. I just can't get enough, can I?

…..

Fuck my life.

And of course it had to keep steadily getting worse. I left that night (just four days after the party) just planning to go out for a ride on the Bellabike. A harmless little ride that would hopefully clear my head. And if it didn't, at least I'd be far enough away from Bruce and the manor to not feel the heavy unease crushing down on my shoulders. I just had to get away quick, and the fastest vehicle I had was the bike.

Once I was on the road I broke every speed limit I could and hunched down so low on the bike that my lips were almost brushing the handlebars. It felt good to be in costume again rather than that slinky black dress that I had stuffed all the way in the back of my drawers –hopefully never to be seen again. I felt more powerful, more confident when I was in costume. I wasn't the misfit teenager, and I wasn't some creepy rich woman –I was just Bella. But a stronger, more level-headed Bella. Bella 2.0 or something.

The wind picked up my long hair again and it swirled and coiled around the quick air like an unruly sea of purpled ink. When I came to a stoplight –which wasn't often if I was sure no cops were around and I wasn't about to get flattened by an SUV- it would flutter gently to my back and curl over my shoulders. The long, thick strands brushed against my cheeks and dangled to the seat cushions –they were old friends thanking me for breaking their torture from last night. They were free of the bobby pins and the tight as hell bun and were let loose to do whatever the hell they pleased.

When I picked up speed again they flew away and acted as a cape once again. Dark and menacing behind me, writhing like some unearthly creature.

I didn't plan on stopping at the scene of a robbery. But as I cut down a few streets into the pulsing heart of Gotham, I found a mess. Police cars littered the street in front of Gotham Bank and their flashing lights created an army of red and blue swirls that clogged up the streets. I could have probably found a route around the entire ordeal, but something in me wanted to try and be the hero.

I parked my bike as close as I could to the building and stepped off it. There were so many policemen –this couldn't have just been some minor robbery. It didn't even look like anyone had gone inside the place yet. Could it be a hostage situation? I had no idea, but I wanted to find out.

I should have called for back up. But I couldn't bear even talking over the phone with him. I did have a little beeper in my blazer pocket that would alert Bruce, but I was only supposed to use that if it was an emergency. I didn't need to have him come racing over when I wasn't in trouble.

I stepped up to the closest police men and squared my shoulders in determination.

"What's happening?" I asked.

The poor man jumped at my surprise intrusion on the tensely quiet scene. God, I was becoming more like Batman every day. Appearing out of nowhere, scaring the poop out of people –what next, was I gonna put on bat ears? The police man eyed me warily. I think he knew who I was, but wasn't sure if he could trust me. No one really trusted Batman as it was. And I was just his weird side kick.

After a moment of silence he gave me the information that I needed.

"We're not entirely sure. We know there's been a break in and there are two possible hostages. Whoever's doing this isn't taking any action though…they're just sitting there. Like they're waiting for something."

"Let me go in," I demanded.

He shook his head firmly.

"I don't think so, kid. We don't want to risk provoking the robber."

"But if I can get close enough I can tell them to do whatever I want them to," I pressed, ripping off a glove pointedly.

He raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything more. His lips were tight in what I hoped was a thoughtful pose.

"Where's the Bat?" he asked suddenly.

My cheeks flamed again.

"Not here," I growled, impatient with the pace of the conversation and irritable at the fact that I hadn't been able to keep from blushing.

He was silent for a few more moments. Just when I was about to reach forwards and shake something out of him he grabbed his walkie-talkie and pressed it to his mouth.

"Sending someone in, Chief."

"Who?" came a crackled reply.

The policeman ignored the voice and nodded for me, mouthing the words 'Go'. I nodded, mouthed back a thank you, and then darted through the maze of police cars before anyone could stop me. There were a few cries of protest at my boldness but they were quickly calmed by word of mouth._ I_ was allowed to go inside.

I felt pretty damn special.

But all I really was, was pretty damn _stupid_.

I slipped in through the doors of the bank quietly. The lights had been turned off and the darkness hung thickly. I waited until my eyes adjusted to the conditions and looked around. I couldn't see much more than shapes of desks and decorative plants –there was no sign of movement anywhere close to me.

I took a soft step forward. My shoe didn't make a sound. I breathed as little as I could as I made my way up the stairs and into the main room of the bank. I heard no rustling, no breathing –not a single peep.

Where was the freakin' robber?

I pressed myself up against the wall and slid across it, feeling the uneven grooves of the smooth tile roll under my shoulder blades. I stopped at the corner and swiveled my head around to the little room at my left. Empty. I kept my stealth and checked all five rooms down that side of the bank. No one at all.

Something crunched under my foot. In a crowded room, it wouldn't have made any noise at all. But the pin-drop silence was shattered by my minute crunching. I guessed it was a light bulb or a piece of something glass from a desktop. But before I could bend down to examine it, there was a loud thrum at the back of the bank.

My head shot up just in time to see a body sprint out a large back door of the building. I broke into a sprint. My feet slapped hard against the creamy stone of the floor as I picked up speed, hoping the robber wasn't getting too much of a head start. I wasn't in the mood to run a marathon around Gotham.

I burst from the door and the cool night air circled around me. It was far from comforting. I could taste the tension –it rolled bitterly inside my mouth until I swallowed.

A whimper came from my left. I stepped out into the grimy alley way a bit farter and turned to see the man I was looking for. A pillow case dangled in his fist, I deduced that was where he was hiding the stolen money. He had his other hand occupied –it was over a young woman's mouth. Her eyes were wide with pure terror and when she saw me a muffled scream flexed in her throat.

I tensed.

"Drop the money, and the lady," I ordered, hoping he would just listen the first time and I wouldn't have to go over there and touch him.

To my surprise, he _did_.

"Sure," he said with an unsettling smirk.

The bag fell to the ground, and he released the lady. She booked it out of the alley way and towards the wail of the police cars in front of the building. That would have made me happy if it had not come so easily. And if that guy wasn't smirking so cruelly. Something was up. I was missing something _big_.

Curiously I took a step closer to him. Suddenly, I was jerked back violently into two iron grips that tightened like snakes around my arms.

I was too surprised to even cry out. I sucked in a breath and held it. I twisted my head up to get a look at whoever was grabbing me at my right side. The dark suit the man wore twisted my stomach. I turned to my left and saw the same dark suit. These were the men Ruby had warned me about.

So much had been going on I'd forgotten about them completely.

Now I understood what was going on –good god can you believe it took me that long-...it was a trap.

"Ah, Isabella. I'm so glad you could make it. And you're alone! Even better."

The men who had me gripped by both arms spun around until we were all facing the opposite direction. Out of the alley way shadows, two shimmering black shoes appeared. Then a body broke from the darkness. A face I was all too familiar with caught the light from the street lamps behind me, and its lips twisted up into a sardonic smile.

Lex Luthor.

"You're behind all this?" I asked incredulously, wondering what the hell he was doing out of Metropolis.

What the hell did Luthor want with me? And why was he going through all the trouble?

"But of course," he said easily, his businessmen-like drawl was eerie in this situation, "I've been studying you for _years_, Bella."

Now _that_ was creepy.

"You're going to make me millions."

He stepped fully out of the shadows then, still smiling that haunting smile of his. And in his hand was a long metal pole. It almost looked like a curling iron but thicker, more industrial looking. It shimmered dully in the street lamp's light. The puzzle pieces locked together inside my head.

That was the tool that killed Kyle. That was the tool that killed _Caleb_.

I lurched back, but just rebounded like an elastic band because of the firm grip the two men had on me. I kicked my legs frantically in the air, as if that would ward off Luthor and his murder weapon. I knew it wasn't strategic to show fear in the face of an enemy, but I couldn't control it.

"Oh, you recognize this, do you?" Luthor chuckled, still advancing, "I was saving it especially for you but I guess you heard about the unexpected test run it got a few weeks ago."

My fear turned into blind fury in half a second. Something close to a snarl ripped out from my throat and I wrenched my elbow into the right man's gut. He doubled over just slightly and I sent a harsh kick to the back of his knee. He buckled just enough so I could plant my foot in his side and shove him to the ground. The man on my left tightened his grip on me. I wanted to rip his brains out so bad but I knew the quickest way to get myself out of danger was to just take the easy way out.

I placed my free hand on his neck and told him to let go in a short, rough hiss of an order. My heart slammed like a boulder inside my ribs. Once I was free of both of the men I backed up and away from Luthor. I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't go at him because he'd kill me. But I couldn't just run away.

So I just kept backing up. I backed up so far that I hit the fire exit stairwell of the apartment building just behind the bank. As I did this, Luthor kept coming for me. As if we were doing some sort of dance. Our movements almost looked practiced. He'd come forward, gently, craftily –I would lurch back with long practiced strides, just short of a tutu.

As we did this he explained things to me.

"See this thing here allows me to send as many volts of electricity as I want into your body. I have a hunch that your powers aren't going to work so well with a bit of a…_buzz _in your system. "

I tripped over a stair and landed hard on my back. The metal clang of my body against the steps was all I heard for a few moments before my head cleared. When it did, Luthor was already standing over me, his half-lidded, sly smile of his was still intact. I shoved myself up and turned over to try and crawl away from him. He sent a harsh kick into my side which flipped me over onto my back again. The cold metal of the stairs smacked hard against my spine.

Before I could make another move, the tool was pressed to the dip of my throat. He clicked something and there was a soft popping noise.

And then all hell broke loose.

Pain rocketed through every bone in me as the electricity buzzed in my system. I felt my muscles tighten with movements that were not my own. My fists bent into awkward claws as the voltage immobilized me. My back arched as the electricity continued. It flowed right alongside my blood and sparked every nerve I had. I could feel my body shaking, trembling with the pain.

I arched again, a moan mixing with Luthor's jubilant laughter.

"Okay, go ahead. Tell me to do something," he chortled, still keeping the tool pressed to my neck.

I couldn't move. The power was still barreling through my body and the pain was worse than anything I'd ever felt before. I would let somebody snap my arm a thousand times and it wouldn't have hurt as bad as that weapon did. An agonized wail broke past my lips – a sound so pitiful that I hadn't even been aware that I could make it.

Frustrated Luthor grabbed my frozen hand.

"Tell me to do something!" he screamed over my loud cries.

I couldn't think of anything. The pain was white hot inside my head and it was all I saw. I couldn't find away around it to delve into any thinking capacity.

"Tell me!" he roared, shaking my arm viciously.

"S-stop…b-brea-breathing," I panted, only for another surge to come at me and arch my body again.

I let out another wail, not caring for saving any sliver of dignity. My body jerked and shuddered with my suffering.

To my horror, Luthor's laughter continued with gusto**. **He finally took the weapon away from my throat and the pain left me. The scorching sensation vanished and all that was left was the icy metal of the stairwell. I panted and twisted my head up to the night sky, sucking in air wildly. I was covered in sweat. I felt a droplet roll down the groove of muscle in my stomach.

Luthor grabbed my shoulder and wrenched me up into a sitting position. My eyes rolled back inside my head. He shook me a bit until I could focus on him. My burning eyes struggled to keep his face in my line of vision. He leaned close to my face and his hot breath swam around my face. His breath was foul and it felt like it was choking me.

"I was right," he whispered.

I was silent for a moment, trying to catch my bearings. I cleared my raw throat and then bared my teeth at him in a sneer.

"Con-fucking-grats," I said, my voice scraped against my throat weakly. Then with my last ounce of energy, I spat at him.

With a roar of disgust he hit me across the side of the face. He hit me so hard my limp body spun and crashed into the railing of the stairwell. I lay there, too tired to do anything and listened to his footsteps as he got up from his crouch in front of me.

"Get her in the van," I heard him faintly say.

Hard, unwelcoming arms picked me up from my crumpled position at the stairs and hoisted me up into the air. I was flopped over a man's back like a bag of potatoes and then tossed into the hard back of a van. Someone tied my hands and feet up while my head was lolled back. They blindfolded me and duct taped my mouth shut.

Very sophisticated. Very professional.

So with everything taken away from me, and my consciousness slowly slipping away, I gave up. I slumped against the wall of the van as the engine started up and let myself drift.

My necklace Clark had given me, the Chinese symbols of strength, hung heavy across my throat.


	20. Chapter 20

**CLARK**

Work was slow. There was nothing important going on worth writing about, and the paper was suffering. I was pretty bored. I didn't even have Lois to take my mind off things because she was out, heaven knows where, trying desperately to find a story. I was skeptical about her drive to get a story. The city was so quiet lately; there couldn't possibly be anything to be found. But then I remembered it was Lois. She'd be back with a story, even if she had to sell her soul in the process. I spent the day pretending to work and taking a lot of coffee breaks.

But one of the coffee breaks about half way through the day was different than all the rest. I got a phone call, from Bruce Wayne of all people. I've never been fond of him. He's a very cold person. I've tried to be friendly but he doesn't want anything to do with me. I was pretty surprised actually when he agreed to train Bella. That's really the only reason we were connected lately. Neither of our cities had any need for us to team up and put our heads together, and Bruce –thank all that is good in this world- was no longer involved with Lois, so usually the only time we came into each other's lives was because of Bella.

For this reason I was a bit perturbed that when I picked up the phone -the Caller ID indicating Bruce Wayne was calling –that it was actually Bruce on the other end, and not Bella. I was starting to miss her. She didn't call much. Either because Bruce was torturing her and forbidding her to use the phone, or that she was just pretty busy all the time with him. What ever it was, it was stressful. I never knew what was going on. And I was starting to miss her just a little bit. Alright, maybe I was starting to miss her a lot. It was strange, suddenly not having her with me after the years of being practically inseparable.

"Bruce?" I asked, keeping my voice low just in case.

"Clark, we have a situation," Bruce's dark voice came clear over the line. I could tell there was something wrong. His usual monotone was tainted slightly with…_something_. There was certain tightness in his tone.

"Bella get hurt again?" I asked dryly. She was always tripping over something or getting herself thrown into a river…the usual.

"I-I don't know," Bruce said, struggling.

"What do you mean you don't know?" I asked. My jaw tightened.

"She went out two nights ago without telling anyone and she never came back."

I swear I felt my blood freeze. I leaned back on the counter to support myself and set my untouched coffee beside me. That didn't sound like something Bella would do. She didn't just _run away_ and not come back. Sure she'd go out for a bit to control herself, I'd seen her do it. But she _always_ came back.

Joey waved to me as he came into the little coffee room. I completely ignored him.

"Why?" I pleaded, as if Bruce could control the situation, "What happened?"

"What happened?" he repeated.

"Did something happen that would make her run away? Did you fight?"

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end. I pressed the phone hard to my ear, anxiously waiting a response. Bruce cleared his throat.

"We didn't fight," he said, purposefully ignoring my first question, "And I don't think she ran away. That doesn't sound like Bella."

I heard the growl in my chest before I was even aware I was making it. It ticked me off that he had quoted thoughts from right inside my head. I'm not sure why I was so upset that he seemed to know Bella just as well as I did. Jealousy?

Hopefully not.

"Five minutes," I said and hung up the phone.

It was easy to let the chief give me the rest of the day off, there was so little going on I wasn't going to be missed. I left Lois a note on her desk that told her that something was up with Bella and that if I wasn't back tomorrow to cover for me. I was pretty sure I could trust her with the information, whether or not she'd cover for me was an entirely different story.

I was in my costume in a few seconds after leaving the building and darting into the alleyway where the shadows would hide me. I rose up into the air until I could see all of Metropolis and the thick, warm breeze billowed the cape around behind me. It danced behind my shoulders with a sense of urgency, and with that I picked up at full speed to Gotham.

I arrived at the manor in the time I said it would take. I lingered at the door, not sure if I should knock. I raised a fist, uncertain, when Bella's face flashed quickly inside my head. I lowered my fist and shoved open the large doors myself. They parted like two feathers.

"Bruce!" I called once I stepped in. The place was cold and empty and smelled faintly of woodwork. My boots made soft sounds against the expensive marble of the floor as I walked further across the threshold.

I could just see Bella flying down the stairs, her eyes bright and grin wide, and throwing her arms around me in one of those hugs that could quiet the angriest of flames. I could almost smell the vanilla perfume that she always wore as I stood there in the bleak and chilly room.

Instead of Bella, Bruce's butler guy walked in. His eyes widened a bit as he saw me and he tugged down the cuff of his sleeve. I gave him a nod. The guy looked tired; there were dark marks under his eyes. Had he been waiting up all night for Bella too?

"Master Bruce is downstairs," he said, waving a hand for me to follow.

I was led down into Bruce's 'Batcave'. It wasn't the friendliest place in the world, but Bruce wasn't exactly the friendliest _person_ in the world. I guess it fit. I nodded my thanks to the butler and then strode to where Bruce sat in front of the large computer at my right. He was in full costume, minus the cowl. His eyes were concentrated on the screen and I wasn't sure if he knew I was standing behind him.

"Explain," I said.

He didn't even flinch. He continued typing. There were just a bunch of strange lines and what looked to be a graphic, 3D map of some place. After a few moments of not acknowledging me, he finally stopped and lowered his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose and his face tightened, as if something was paining him.

"There's nothing to explain," he said after a moment.

"Anything is helpful, Bruce," I said through clenched teeth. It was taking everything in me not to grab him by the throat and shake the information out of him.

He sighed, but still didn't turn to me. He raked a hand through his hair.

"Alfred called her down for dinner; she'd been in her room all day. I waited and she didn't come after a few minutes. So I went up to look for her. I knocked on her door and she didn't answer. I thought something was wrong so I went in and she wasn't there. Then I came down here and saw her bike was gone."

I felt my lip curl in a somewhat hostile sneer. I'd never liked the bike idea. This was one of the reasons why: there was nothing caging her in, that bike was a slip to unhindered freedom. Of course she _needed_ freedom, but too much of it was dangerous, especially for someone like her. Also, I think it was cheap of Bruce to buy back Bella's good graces with a toy. Rich playboy…gets anything he wants.

Bruce continued.

"We didn't think much of it and we waited for her. We waited for her all night and she never came back. We waited all yesterday and she didn't show. So I went out last night to look for any sign of her but I couldn't find anything."

"She hasn't called?"

Bruce shook his head and then ran his hands down the length of his face. There was a drawn out silence then. I folded my arms over my chest just for something to do. My forearms brushed up against the thick emblem on my chest. I frowned. Yeah, some Superman I was. I sat on my butt while Bella went missing. I couldn't stand the thought of her being in danger, I felt like I'd failed.

The image of her the night I found her quickly flashed inside my head. Bleeding, bruised, wheezing and sobbing tearless, anguished sobs. I shuddered and shut my eyes against the image. It receded after a moment.

"So what do we do?" I asked after a moment, Bruce still hadn't lifted his face from his hands and by his hunched position I could tell he was deep in thought.

He finally lowered his hands and gestured up to the computer screen. The graphics, I know realized, made up a virtual map of the city.

"Gotham's too big for me to look on my own," he said darkly, "And we have to factor in that she could be in Metropolis as well."

"What, do you think she was kidnapped?" I asked uncomfortably.

"That story that you two came back with that night from Bella's friend about the "government" men is pointing to that."

He finally turned to look at me. It was the first time since I'd walked in. I was amazed to see the distraught in the lines of his face. I always thought it was impossible for him to _feel_ anything. I lowered my arms, softened by his –now what I knew was- genuine concern.

"You have the speed and you can hear things and see things I can't," Bruce said, quickly turning back to his computer, "So I think it's smartest if you do the searching, and I'll do some work and try and see what I can find. Maybe someone saw her the other night, or saw men in suits. Anything that could give us a lead."

"Agreed," I said.

"Here, take this," Bruce said, rising and coming to stand in front of me. He gestured a tiny, beige device with a tiny green light that flashed on and off. "It's an ear piece so you can contact me if you find something."

I nodded and wedged the thing in my ear. And before he could even take a breath to say something more, I was gone.


	21. Chapter 21

I woke up in a white room.

Now if that wasn't creepy enough, there was nothing _in_ the room. Just me and the chair I was strapped into. There was a large window on the wall adjacent from where I sat but it was opaque to me, I couldn't see anyone inside. But I had a sneaking suspicion they could all see me.

All my previous binds were gone as was the duct tape. My costume was gone too, I realized. I was dressed in a white almost hospital-wear looking thing. This meant the little beeper that I had to alert Bruce was gone, and I had no way of telling him I was in trouble.

Then I realized something more important: I was out of my costume…_who the hell undressed me?_ It better have been a god damn woman or there would be hell to pay whenever I got out of there.

Where ever _there_ was.

Luthor entered. Another man in a long white lab coat entered behind him, wheeling a tray along with him. He closed the door tightly behind them and the two made their way over to me.

"Good morning, Bella," Luthor said cordially.

I narrowed my eyes at him and said nothing.

"So I guess you're wondering why and where you are?" he continued as the guy in the lab coat behind him busied himself with clinking things upon his tray.

Still, I said nothing. I stared up at him and jerked absentmindedly at the straps that bound my wrists and ankles to the chair. Luthor started pacing and he folded his arms behind his back, as if he was about to address the people of the world with some important speech. Oh what I wouldn't have given to shove that electrocuting tool up his pompous ass.

"I sent people to ask you first, politely, if you would take part in my experiments. You refused, so naturally I had to take action. Bella, you're here in my secret, remote _laboratory_, if you will. I won't keep you long, just long enough to conduct some experiments. "

He cast a look at me. I was still silent, but my jaw had tightened. He cleared his throat and continued.

"You see, after a few years of studying you, your powers and your background, I believe that I can harness your power. It's simple science, your powers; it's just a matter of conducting experiments and testing things. Like last night, the electricity –that was a result of myresearch. A guess proven to be right.

Your powers are interesting, Bella. Obviously very useful in any situation, as I'm sure you've had figured out for years and years. For you, drugs, money, and the _occasional_ good deed along with Superman."

He grinned and his dark eyes flashed. He knew he was picking at brittle bones. But I kept my poker face, refusing to give him the satisfaction of angering me.

"But just imagine for a moment how much your powers could do if put in the hands of someone with so much more power. The government perhaps? Just think of the control that would give America over all our enemy countries. War, money, oil, secrets, tactics –everything would be at our fingertips. Or…rather, _your_ fingertips if you ever agreed to adding to the cause…"

"Never," I hissed quickly.

He held up a hand.

"I guessed as much. This is why you're here, most unfortunately, against your own will. I compromised that if I couldn't have you personally, I would have to find a way to harness your power and recreate it so I can use it myself."

He strode over to me and gently brushed my cheek.

"Can you see how powerful I will be if I can do that? People will pay me millions for my secret. This is revolutionary!"

"_This_ is illegal," I snarled before jerking my head away.

Luthor shrugged gently and straightened the collar of his suit, "As a majority of things I do are."

The guy in the lab coat cleared his throat.

"Mr.Luthor, sir, I'm ready."

Luthor beamed and held out a hand, gesturing to me.

"She's all yours."

I narrowed my eyes murderously as the guy neared me and I pulled against my restraints. He looked wary as he went around behind me, but Luthor ignored my fury. He went on talking as if we were discussing politics over a cup of tea.

"First things first, Bella. We need to get rid of anything that will be a hindrance to the scientists conducting the experiments."

I eyed him carefully. I didn't like where his tone was going. What did he mean by that? And then I heard it.

_Snip._

With a cry I wrenched my head forward, away from the guy in the lab coat. I pressed my face into my knees, trying to get as far away from him as I could.

"Oh be reasonable Bella, its only hair," Luthor said in a scolding voice.

I writhed around, trying to make it impossible for the guy to get the scissors anywhere near my hair again. I didn't know how much he'd just gotten off, but I was determined to not let him get anymore. My hair was…_me_. It was as much a part of me as my arms and my legs were.

I squirmed more, shaking my head wildly so my hair spun out from me like a skirt. Luthor came forward then and shoved my head back. His hand tightened around my throat and he held me there no matter how hard I protested against him. I gagged. The more I fought the harder it was to breathe, his hand constricted against my neck.

"Stay. Still."

And there it was again. I could feel the guy's rough hands through my hair.

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

I could do nothing but swear at them both. I swore like _crazy_, using every word I knew about six times in one sentence and insulted the two of them like there was no tomorrow. It didn't feel as good as I thought it would, and my weary, wheezing rasps finally died away and I was met again by the snipping sounds of the scissors in my hair. My head felt lighter already, and from the corner of my eye I could see blackberry colored locks littering the white floor.

"I never knew you had such a vocabulary, Bella," Luthor chuckled, "I guess that's what the gang life does to you."

If my feet hadn't been strapped to the chair legs I would have neutered him. I didn't speak to him and just closed my eyes, swallowing with a bit of difficulty at the pressure Luthor's palm was exerting on my windpipe. I tried to think of something happy to take my mind off what was happening.

Bruce's lips were the first thing that came to my head. Pathetic, right? Kidnapped, about to be experimented on, and all I could think of was shoving my tongue down Bruce Wayne's throat. That's just great.

But I went with it. And there I was, standing at the door in the kitchen, feeling his warmth advance over my smaller body. His shadow encased me in a swirl of cologne and his lips crashed smoothly against mine –pure glass that was molded to lock together perfectly with my mouth. Our faces fit together too, skin brushing skin in just the right places, jaws perfectly aligned.

"I think we're done, Mr. Luthor."

My reverie was ripped away from me. It stung as it receded, and I remembered where I was. I looked up at Luthor who was smiling at me. His hand retreated from my throat and I took a greedy breath in, happy to no longer have a hindrance for oxygen. Luthor fished out his cell phone and held it up to my face.

"Would you like to see my assistant's brilliant work?"

A small camera clicking sound came and then his loud, horrible laughter.

I should have closed my eyes. But I had to see.

"I think it suits you," he said with a smile and then turned the phone around to show me.

My hair hung like a ragged cloth to my jaw. One side was a little longer than the other and just grazed my cheekbone, while the other side brushed the very top bone of my jaw. An overlap hung in the front of my face where ragged cuts ran serrated across the side of my head. I could feel there wasn't any length in the back, they'd cut it as far as they could at the back of my skull.

I spun my head a bit over my shoulder and saw the heap of hair across the floor, lying there like some lush river of purple wine. I think I could have made like three dogs out of that pile. _So long good buddy. _ Tears rose in my eyes. They bit at my nose and sent sharp pains across my sinuses. I fought them back and turned to Luthor, giving him a sneer.

"Guess you don't have to worry about loosing your hair anymore, you can just use some of mine," I hissed through my clenched teeth. My jaw was so tight that it hurt to even try and loosen it.

Luthor's face hardened but he didn't hit me like I knew his fist was begging him to.

"Ha ha," he said dryly, before another guy in a lab coat –who I hadn't even noticed come in- stepped up to Luthors side and flipped open a little case.

That _thing_. That thing that killed Caleb and Kyle, and pretty much fried the shit out of me the other night. Then, I started thinking –was it last night? How long had I been here? Had I been out that long? What time of day was it? My head swirled for a few moments before fear kicked in and sharpened my head crystal clear. Luthor was drawing the tool from the case.

Then a sharp pain drew down my shoulder blade. I let out a cry. It was more of surprise than it was of pain. I mean it _hurt_, but it just scared the stuffing out of me more than anything. I tried to crane my neck to see what the hell was going on.

I felt warm liquid seep down the bare skin of my back. The hospital-like garment I was dressed in had an open back. I hadn't paid much attention to the fact before now. Another slice of pain went down the other shoulder. I grunted with the pain. What were they _doing?_

"We're just going to do a quick little experiment to get the ball rolling," Luthor said, gesticulating with the zapping tool. It was as morbid as if he had been doing it with a bazooka.

More blood snaked its way down the hot skin of my back. I felt something press up against the two wounds that had been cut; something I assumed would collect the blood/skin that was being sampled.

"Okay, Mr. Luthor," said the guy behind me who was doing the freakin' slicey-dicey.

Luthor stepped forward and pressed the tool to my shoulder**. **And before I could even scream electricity was tearing through my body**.** I shook with the pain; every muscle in me was caught in a fit of spasms. My back arched as it had the night before, and my rampaging muscles chafed and tugged against the hard restraints of the chair. My hands clawed against the air as if I was trying to dig myself out of a grave. I drifted during the pain, separating from my body for a few blissful seconds of half-consciousness. But the pain would drag me back in again and I would be at its mercy.

Everything in me was too tight to scream. I heard strange animalistic sounds churning in the air over the harsh electric snaps of the tool, and then realized they were churning in my own throat. I gagged on bile that was trying to come up, swallowing it back down as my throat seemed to constrict. After a minute or two I was drenched in sweat. I could feel it pouring from my skin, rolling over my collarbones, collecting in the grooves of my hips, making my legs and arms slick as I thrashed. My new hair matted and clung uncomfortably to my face as sweat wormed its way down from my temples, where I could feel harsh veins protruding.

There was a point where I felt my body couldn't take anymore. In my blind pain I remember thinking I was going to die in just a few seconds. It was a chilling feeling, feeling the limit of my body –as if I'd ventured too far in woods where I wasn't supposed to be and had almost taken a step off the cliff.

But it was over. Right before I would have taken that step and would have been pushing daisies –it stopped.

I flopped back into the seat as my muscles died out and my head lolled against my chest that was rising and falling as hyperventilation set into my lungs. I couldn't get enough air no matter how hard I tried. My eyes stung with the salt of my sweat and I let them rise, probably blood shot with the blood vessels I'd popped, to Luthor who was nodding to someone behind me.

Someone shoved my body over in the seat and my limp figure willingly crashed into my own lap. There I moved my face to the side and threw up. I was just pissed that Luthor wasn't' standing any closer. I would have loved to get his expensive shoes covered in puke.

I barely even felt the second round of slices to my back. They were miniscule, minute…_insignificant, _compared to the pain of the electricity. Like a fly landing on my arm compared to a great white shark biting it clean off.

While I tried to calm my stomach and breathe normally again, the scientists took another blood/skin sample. I was too gone to even fathom what they were doing. I didn't care. I really didn't care. They could do anything they wanted to me as long as I never had to deal with that tool again. I heard the clicking sounds of the briefcase snapping back closed and whimpered to no one in relief.

Luthor reached forward and raised my head by placing two fingers under my chin. His face leveled with mine.

"Round one is over," he murmured darkly, as if it were supposed to be comforting, "You can go to sleep now."

And damn, I swore I'd never take an order from Lex Luthor…but that one was just too good to pass up. Right as the words left his lips the room started to spin. The warm coils of blood rolling down my back turned into the warm shower back at the manor, and the sweat drenching my body was the soft kiss of the steam from the heat. The comfort faded until I was completely numb, and my eyes dropped closed.


	22. Chapter 22

Three days. I endured three more days of torture.

When I wasn't in the white room I was locked up in something like a prison cell, with a bed that was even harder than the floor. Not that I could sleep even if I tried. I was always awake, always alert, getting sick and pale with my recent paranoia- that Luthor would come walking in and conduct something else on my ragged body.

It had been going on virtually nonstop for those three, gruesome days.

When I was in the chair, it was terrible. They sliced me open like a piece of pie every chance they got, filling vial after vial with my thick, dark blood. The cuts were deep too; they were not mere scratches that would heal and disappear over time. These all were going to be _scars_. Scars on the bottoms of my feet, my shins, my knees, my upper thigh, my arms, my chest, my back, my neck, my palms –in a few months they would litter my body, all thick white scars to remind me of what had happened.

Being carved like a pumpkin wasn't the worst of it. I got busted up a lot during Luthor's experiments. One of the scientists broke my hand and every one of its fingers to see if my powers still worked even if the bone was snapped under the skin. I'd never screamed so hard in my life. And why in the _hell_ that find would ever matter to their project was a mystery to me. But most of that ordeal was. Luthor never explained to me what all his research was coming to. Was he making progress? Would I be freed soon? Had he made a breakthrough? Were all his scientists, with their pockets lined filthy with money, stuck on something? I was pretty much left alone in my own little world to muse and wonder about what was going on in that little opaque window adjacent from my chair.

I spent a lot of my time daydreaming while the scientists were cutting open my palms, snapping my fingers, dousing my skin in weird chemicals and shining harsh lights in my eyes. At first I just concentrated on simple things, anything to get my mind off the pain. When they were cutting my upper thighs I was admiring the stitching of my new pink Victoria's Secret underwear, counting the number of threads until the scientist was done. Then I started studying the scientists, watching their faces, making up names for them and daydreaming about their lives –if they had families, what their families would think if they ever found out what they were doing, if they had kids, if they had any friends, how much Luthor was paying them, etc.

But as the days progressed and the tests grew more and more insufferable, my daydreams grew more advanced. I could completely escape if I really tried, and the murmur of voices and the crunching sounds of my bones would all fade away, and anything could happen in my dream-state.

My favorite scenario that I thought up was one where I was being saved.

I would be sitting in the chair and one of the scientists (always the big fat one that smelled like woman's perfume) would be working on me –digging a scalpel into the soft flesh in the center of my chest. I'd cringe and try to tell him to stop, but my voice would finally be drowned out by a massive crack, and then a great tumbling of debris. Clark would zip valiantly through the new hole he'd punched through in the wall of the white room. His cape would flutter with the sweet kiss of the outside breeze, something I had not felt in days, and I would grin at him with my cut up lips. (Yeah, the jerkholes even cut my lips for their tests.)

Clark would zoom in and take down the scientists like domino pieces, and then he'd burst through that strange opaque window to find Luthor and deal with anyone else who might behind it. And low and behold, Bruce would then swing in through the hole in the wall and would land perfectly in front of me. His long cape would billow around his dark, muscled form and he'd immediately crouch down to undo my feet and then he'd come up to unleash my wrists.

And of course, since it was _my_ dreamland and I could make anything I damn well pleased happen –Bruce would lean in and kiss me hungrily. His mask would momentarily fade away so I could run my hand across the smooth skin over his regal cheekbone and so our noses could brush.

Then the mask would return and he would collect me in his arms like he'd done that night by the river. He'd swirl his cape around my weak body -waif-like with the amount of eating I'd been doing (none) - and hug me close to his chest. Then Clark would come out holding Luthor by the throat as the stupid pig squirmed in his grasp. Bruce then shot a batarang out into the open night sky –and that's usually where my daydream ended.

It wasn't the pain of whatever was happening to me then that would drag me out of my reverie. It was just that at that point I always figured out it was just that –a stupid _dream_. Bruce and Clark couldn't just pop in and save my ass. They hadn't found me for three days. They might not find me at all. That was always a spirit crusher. But the pain was pretty bad and most of the time when I stopped dreaming I'd just start all over to escape, changing the scenery, changing the kiss, changing the entrance, etc. And I sat in a daze while blood dribbled from my hungry body and while they studied and scraped at the skin of my palms.

But my daydreams could not save me from Luthor's tool.

That pain was always too vicious for me to escape. It was the worst, most terrifying pain I'd ever experienced --it was an entire new _level_ of pain. And he came in daily sessions, and each time he would increase the time I would be tortured. It started off as a minute, to a minute thirty, to two minutes and so on. I was up to five minutes by the time I realized I need to escape.

I knew it was coming that day. They had started sticking little circular disks to my temples and forehead and the wires from them connected to a little box next to me that a few scientists were pushing and clicking away at. When Luthor came in with the briefcase I was not surprised. But I was not exempt from terror. I hated the pain. I would have taken a million slices –no, I would have let them break my entire leg and then saw it off with a freaking scalpel if I could have just been spared the electrocuting sessions.

Five minutes almost killed me.

At the three minute mark I started screaming –that was usually the time it took for my vocal chords to loosen up from the shock of the pain- and I screamed so hard I almost got sick again. My throat was absolutely destroyed by all the screaming I'd been doing. Mind you, it wasn't the kind of screaming those horror movie bimbos do when the monster shows up at their door. This was a different kind of screaming –these were agonized screeches that ripped from my throat in jagged, horrible sounds.

And the sweat drenched my body, clumped my short, snarled hair, new wounds formed on my wrists and ankles from where the restraints dug into raw flesh.

When that session was over, I slumped over and passed out for a few seconds. I was hanging over my knees as my senses came to me a few seconds later. And I heard it.

"I don't know how much more she can take," said someone.

"She's fine, the strain just made her pass out," Luthor said. I could hear him clipping the briefcase shut, "Besides, she's getting stronger every time. She handles electricity much better than normal humans –which is surprising, because it seems to be her power's weakness."

"Yes, but," the voice replied warily, "Look at her. She hasn't eaten, she's loosing blood every day and we're not putting any back…I'm not sure she'll last the week."

My tired heart froze in mid-beat. I stayed completely still no matter how much I wanted to raise myself and sob and plead with them for mercy.

Luthor snorted.

"Then she doesn't last the week," he said matter-of-factly, "We already have more than enough data to start making a serum, this is just extra to make sure we haven't missed anything. If she dies that just makes our lives easier –we won't have to keep her here when we're done."

That was the point were I had my revelation. Drenched in sweat, shaking, bleeding, ready to puke up an empty stomach –I realized I could not sit around and wait for my daydreams to come true. No one was going to come save me. I was not some stupid princess sitting in her tower and looking down forlornly, waiting for her Prince to battle the stupid dragon for her.

I needed to be my own Prince.

So that night when I was lead like an old man to my room, I collapsed onto the hard bed. I spun so my face was to the ceiling and formulated my plan.


	23. Chapter 23

_Author's Note: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has been reviewing this story. I couldn't figure out how to reply for the LONGEST time, and when I finally did the number of replies I'd have to write was daunting and I didn't have the time. Which is AMAZING, because I was happy to even get just one! I want to thank all my 'regulars' I'll call them, haha, who never fail to write something about every single chapter I put out. I owe a lot of my motivation to you guys, and you keep fueling me to keep writing this story. And you guys are so funny! I crack up every time I get a review. And I also want to thank the people who spend a lot of time and give one, well-thought out review for me because those are the ones I really feel good about and want to keep writing for. So thank you thank you thank you thank you!_

_--_

My plan was built upon luck and risk. There was about a forty percent chance it would work –maybe less. But when I was dragged into the white room that morning, I knew –flawed or not- that I had to go through with it. The scientist was right: if I stayed I _wasn't_ going to make it. I hadn't eaten anything they'd given me -for fear it would be poisoned with something else to run tests on-, and I'd barely drank. I was starving my already tired and deprived body, and the dehydration mixed in was slowly killing me.

And on top of all that were the experiments, the cutting, the zapping, the dousing, the breaking –my body was growing more brittle by the hour.

I thought about those things the entire morning, waiting patiently as the scientists scraped more scars into my pale skin and stuck IVs in me dispensing God knows what into my veins. I waited. I no longer resorted to my daydream when the pain made me grind my teeth. I went over my plan again, and again, and again, perfecting and touching up what ever I could. And I would tell myself: _It's almost over, just a little while longer. You can hold out for another hour. _

And I could. I knew I could. Clark would have. So would Bruce.

Finally the moment came. The endless hours I'd spent the night prior planning had to pay off, right then, right there. Luthor entered the room and stepped around until he was in front of my chair and placed the briefcase on a tray. I watched very carefully as his fingers unclipped the buckles –metallic clanging sounds scalding forever in my memory. His large hand drew out the long metal tool.

I bit down on my tongue as hard as I could. Blood spurted instantly in my mouth and I started to make myself tremble. First it was softly, attracting the careful attention of one wary scientist. Then I increased the motions, my quivering arms becoming violent against their restraints, my knees banging together. I squeezed the rising blood in my mouth out through my lips for effect and felt the warm tendrils crawl menacingly over my chin and down the bone of my jaw.

"What's happening?" Luthor roared over the instant commotion. The scientists had jumped into action, ripping the IV from my arm, clicking away at their various machines, trying to pry my eyes open that I kept letting roll into the back of my head.

"Her system shouldn't be giving out this quickly!" someone was yelling.

"Her heart rate's climbing!"

"Someone get her oxygen!"

I threw a wild frenzy then, needing as much pandemonium as I could get. I groaned in fake agony and wheeled my head around, accelerating my breath as needed. I drew air so hard my lungs would wheeze. My chest protested with a sharp stitch, but I kept going. I thrashed away from the oxygen and felt more blood spilling over my bottom lip. The blood covered my neck like brash scarlet paint and started to stain the neckline of my hospital dress, overpowering the other smaller stains from previous injuries.

I shuddered and shook as convincingly as I could as all hell broke loose around me. I had to keep going until it happened. I knew it would in time, all I had to do was keep up my act.

So I chomped down hard on my lips. The recent cuts were still new enough to be easily opened again and more blood spilled. I moaned as I shivered, thrashing away from all the strange hands and needles that were trying to restrain me.

"Stop it! Stop!" Luthor screamed suddenly. My wild eyes focused on him for just a moment and I saw him advancing.

This was it. This was my cue.

"Let her die! She is of no more use to us," he boomed, spit flying from his lips. His face darkened in anger as he tried to control the chaos.

When I felt he was close enough, I fell limp as and closed my eyes. The room fell absolutely silent. As much as it hurt I subdued my wild breath that was begging to be panted. The room was so soft I could even hear Luthor's slightly increased breath.

"Is she dead?"

"Her heart's still beating."

Luthor's expensive shoes clicked upon the tiled floor. Soft sounds, but they were earth shattering inside my head. I waited for it, praying with everything I had in me that he would do what I had predicted him to. There were a few more seconds of silence. Then someone spoke.

"What do you think that was all about, sir?"

"I don't know, but run some tests anyway –maybe that was some sort of stage, or transformation." Luthor said suspiciously, and then he grabbed my hand, turning over my sliced palm.

My eyes flew open.

"Undo my restraints, give me the tool and-" I paused for half a second of contemplation. There were so many things I wanted him to do. I could have told him to go throw himself down a flight of stairs, go fling himself off a skyscraper, go drown himself –the list goes on and on. But that ancient and everlasting fear rose in me in that split second of hesitation. The fear of wrong, the fear of abuse of power.

There were certain lines that could _never_ be crossed.

"And….and go to sleep," I finished, a bit anti-climatically.

Luthor obediently undid my bindings as scientists flew at him left and right, trying to peel him back away from me and his task. But he was not a scrawny man by any means, and he flung the men off him like flies. He handed me the tool after I was free and then dropped to the floor in a deep slumber.

The affect of my powers would wear off in about an hour. That gave me plenty of time…I hoped.

I switched on the tool, feeling the current of electricity vibrate my hand. I couldn't believe I was threatening with something that had killed two of my friends, and had almost killed me. But I had to use anything I could get for this plan. And it worked pretty damn well. I waved it at the scientists who tried to advance on me and they backed knowingly away. I spun so my back was never to them, and then opened the heavy door to the white room. They all stayed put in fear.

Once I was far enough away from them, I spun, and _bolted._

I had no idea where I was going. I had no idea what part of the building I was in, what floor, what side –I was just running blindly in hope I would find something. I found a flight of stairs and discovered I was only on the second floor, which was good because with the state my body was in I was in no shape to run down any more flights than that.

My bare feet slapped hard against the cold, echoing metal of the stairs as I sprinted my way down. My breath came in hard through my burning chest that was still slick and sticky with my blood. My pretty bra would be ruined now with all the sweating and bleeding I'd been doing.

I hit the first floor and flew out of the stairwell into another dark hallway. There were no windows to tell me how close I was to the outside, no signs, no arrows, no candy trail –I was left in luck's unmerciful hands. I ran and I ran and I ran, whimpering and panting as I came to more than a few dead ends. I must have passed the same hallway six times in my panicked sprint, and all the while the tool buzzed and zapped in my clammy hand.

My legs started to burn and grow heavy. My breaths were coming in strangled wheezes. Then I heard faint voices from a few hallways down. I didn't even have the energy to swear at my misfortune. I just had to keep running. Running, running, running. All I wanted to do was crumple to the ground and take a break. Maybe I could wave off my pursuers and be like, "Hey guys, I need a breather. Can we start this up again in five minutes?"

The voices were getting closer, and I still hadn't found an exit. I quickened my pace, trying to take longer strides as my hospital dress clung to my steamy skin that was starting to glitter with sweat. The voices were so close now I could pick out what they were saying.

"She'll be down here somewhere."

"Split up! I'll go left!"

My head pounded in time with my heavy feet. Everything seemed to be going at the same cadence, my tired heart, my gnarled breaths, my slamming feet, my beating head –and then…

The moon.

I saw the moon through a tiny window of a big steel door. I gave a loud sob of relief, not caring if my pursuers could hear me or not. I was in the clear, for this part of my escape at least. I shoved all my weight into the door and it broke open with a loud screech of metal. Cold evening air rushed at my weak body, whipping my grimy dress around me in a friendly embrace. My short hair plastered itself against the side of my face with the wind, clinging to my skin as the perspiration hung on to the snarled locks.

I didn't take a moment to stop and enjoy the fresh air. I broke into the night running as hard as I could. The cuts on the bottoms of my feet opened up and started to become slippery with blood. I didn't even feel the pain. My adrenalin was too high for me to feel anything –everything grew numb. The pain in my tired legs, the scraping feeling in my chest as I sucked wild, frantic air in, the pounding of my head as the dehydration finally broke away at my last wall of strength. I was a _machine_ at that point, running on whatever the hell I could get.

While I ran my head was processing information. No other thoughts got in but the scenery.

I couldn't decipher where I was. There were no landmarks I could see that would distinguish what city I was in. It was really too dark out to see anything but a barren, dirt wasteland spreading out in front of me. There had to be something at the end, there just had to.

And then I heard it. A rabid, feral snarl. A few short barks that shot viciously through the air as if they'd come from the barrel of a gun. I turned my head over my shoulder just a bit to confirm my terror. Two dark shadows were coming for me. They were too small to be people, too _fast_ to be people. They were coming up on me so quickly. A spotlight shown down on the shapes from a control tower to my left.

Two _lion-sized_ German Sheppard's.

A loud swear broke through my bleeding lips. The strangled, horrible sound of my voice surprised me. It sounded so helpless, so _pathetic_. And then I remembered something. The final part of my plan that required a hell of a lot of luck. The part of my plan that was so flawed and so unrealistic I immediately was tempted to turn around and just let them capture me again. This was _never_ going to work.

But I had already come this far. And if I surrendered now I was going to be dog chow anyway.

"_SUPERMAN!" _ I screeched, as loud and as hard as my pumping lungs would allow, "_SUPERMAN!"_

Clark had super hearing. He used to take me up over Metropolis when we first started to work together and tell me he could hear the entire city. He could _everything_, every euphoric moment; every sobbing mother, every screaming father, every playing child, every wish, every promise –and he always said that was what made him so devoted to the city. So passionate about making it a better place. Because he felt like he knew everyone so well.

Now, I figured Bruce would have called Clark to help him find me. They _had_ to know I was gone, and I sure as hell hoped they were at least making an effort to find me. So maybe Clark would be patrolling. Gotham, most likely. Unless they had somehow connected my disappearance and the government men to Luthor and then he might have been surveying Metropolis. I couldn't wish for one really, because I had no idea where the hell I was. I might not have been in either for all I knew.

And there was the flaw in my plan. If I wasn't in either city, there was no way Clark would be able to hear me. And even if I was in one, he could very well be in the other –and I knew his hearing wasn't so good that he could hear me a few cities over. So I just had to put everything I had in fate, and pray that it would work out.

I kept screaming as I ran.

"_SUPERMAN!...SUPERMAN…. __**SUPERMAN!"**_

I had to catch my breath before I could scream again. I was screaming so hard I thought I was going to get sick, like all the times I had before with Luthor's sessions. But I had to keep doing it. I pushed my throat as far as it could go, even when my voice started to give out –I just put more and more power behind it. I liked the screaming better than just the sound of my horrible, sickly panting. Besides, when I wasn't screaming, I was starting to hear the heavy paws of the dogs getting closer and closer to me.

I kept running, and I kept screaming, scanning the dimly moonlit skies for a flash of a red cape. There was no movement in them, but I still kept screaming. I screamed and I ran, and I ran some more, I choked and wailed and screamed and sobbed tearless sobs.

But I stopped everything as I came to the fence.

My scream stopped short and my body came to a halt. It was chilling moment of despair, as I craned my neck up to the forty or fifty foot metal fence that loomed ominously above me. I couldn't run any farther. There was no where for me to go but up. And the dogs were almost in lunging range, I could hear their wet snarls and horrible barks.

There was no time to think.

I dropped Luthor's buzzing tool and dove for the fence, digging my toes into the wire rings. I scurried up as high as I could with just my feet and before gravity could take me I flung my hand into the rings. My fingers locked on the cold metal victoriously and I tugged to get a good grip. I was wheezing like an old man and my vision was starting to develop big white spots, but I knew I wasn't high enough yet to be spared from the dog's jumps. I reached up my other hand and tried to latch my fingers into the rings.

But I had forgotten that hand was broken. My swollen, cracked digits were useless. I made a frantic grab with my good hand higher up. But I couldn't keep my balance with just my feet and I fell back.

I plummeted to the ground and landed harshly on my back. The smack to my head made the world spin for a moment and I was just a broken, lifeless doll as the dogs came upon me. One dug it's teeth hard into the soft flesh of my upper thigh. A monster rose from the pit of my stomach into my raw throat, and I screamed the loudest, most bloodcurdling scream God has ever known.

I shook my leg, still screaming and tearing up my throat. Its grip wouldn't loosen. The other dog grabbed onto my forearm and sunk his teeth in. I screamed again. The sound rose and octave higher as the thing tugged on my arm as if trying to tear it out of its socket. Panicked, I fumbled around with my free arm, searching desperately for the tool while trying to get the dogs off me. I sent my free leg into one as hard as I could, kicking and thrashing with as much power as I could muster. He wouldn't budge. Neither would the other.

But my hand suddenly found the discarded tool. My shaking fingers wound around it and with a cry of outrage I slammed it down over the one who had my arm. I let the point of it come in the middle of its muscled shoulders. The electricity popped and crackled. The dog let out an awful yowl of pain and staggered away from me, releasing its grip. As the pressure was released more pain seemed to rise, and blood wet the ground under me. I kept the electricity on the dog as it whined and whimpered. I sobbed at the inhumanity of my actions more than I did for the pain that was growing inside my body.

There was another yelp from down by my leg. I was too concentrated on driving the other dog away to even notice. But when the pressure was released from my thigh I gave a tight moan and the tool dropped to the ground.

_So this is what dying is like_, I remembered thinking. I heard voices coming from behind me –probably the guards who had sent the guards after me. _Too bad, _I thought, _I'm already dead guys. _I rolled completely on my back and let my eyes go to the stars, watching them with a bit of affection. I thought it was a nice way to die, staring up at the stars like that. There were a lot of uglier things I could have been looking at, I figured.

Warmth sheathed my body and suddenly I was being lifted. An angel, I presumed –wind rushed at my hot body. The coolness was so sweet that I had to smile. Dying apparently wasn't so bad, it was actually pretty enjoyable. The stars seemed to be getting closer and closer, and from the corner of my eye I saw the top of the fence getting smaller as I rose. I wondered if my body was still down there, under the dogs, while this angel carried my "soul" or whatever up to heaven.

Then, I heard a familiar voice.

"Bruce...I found her."


	24. Chapter 24

**RUBY**

The cave was freezing and it more than explained Mr. Wayne. It was logical that a man who spent so much time in the dungeon would have a personality with about the same temperature. But he wasn't as mean to me as I thought he would be after Superman forced him into revealing that he was the Batman so I could go down in this 'lair' thing to help aid the two while they looked for Bella. In the beginning he seemed a little more than pissed off, but it eventually cooled and he was somewhat cordial to me. As cordial as a man like him could be, I guess.

I never minded the cold when I was searching for her on the computer, or talking over the intercom to Superman who was scouring the city streets like a wild man.

But now that we were all waiting…just _waiting_, not a word exchanged between any of us, the cold was driving me insane. I chattered as quietly as I could and hugged my arms around myself.

Mr. Wayne was pacing roughly at the front of the 'batmobile', or whatever they call it. He had his arms folded over his muscular chest and his face was sharp and frightening with whatever emotion was churning inside that head of his. And Alfred was seated in the chair by the stairs wearily, holding his forehead in one wrinkled palm. The three of us were an absolute mess after hearing Superman's cold as ice voice over the speakers in the cave. The echoic walls made the news burn harder in our chests.

_I found her._

There was nothing jubilant in his tone. The glowing image of Superman that I had in my mind was shattered with the horrible pitch of his usually smooth voice. Something was _wrong_, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

I bit my nails down until I couldn't anymore, even causing myself to bleed on a few fingers. Then I started tugging viciously at a thread on my sweatshirt –that was doing nothing to keep the infuriating cold out- until it tore with a loud scratching sound. Neither of the two men looked up. Both of their minds where elsewhere, that was obvious.

I wanted to say something. I felt like I should, but there was nothing to say. No motivational words would get us through like that had the beginning of the week. No predictions, no hopeful premonitions would fill the horrible void of sound that pressed on us in the cave. I just prayed that Superman would get there soon. I just needed to see she was still alive. I didn't care how bad of shape she was in; as long as she was still breathing I would feel better.

Exactly three minutes after we'd gotten the call from Superman, a whoosh of air signaled he arrived. I jumped from my leaning position on the counter of the lab table and scurried forward behind Alfred who had jumped up from his seat as well. Mr. Wayne noticeably stiffened and lowered his big arms from his chest.

Superman came from the shadows. I wanted to turn away. I wanted to turn and run away from the sight. But I stayed with my eyes locked on the…_thing_ that was swinging bridal-style in Superman's arms. It didn't even look like Bella. It was a carcass, a shell, of the healthy, beautiful young woman I'd last seen.

Her hair was gone. What was left hung in a tangled heap around her bruised and swollen face that was crusty with blood that had come from her pale mouth. The long, thick locks that used to hang down like a waterfall of blackberry wine were now chopped at her jaw line and horribly ragged. Her throat was lined in dark red and the neckline of her strange clothing was black with the old, dried up blood. One of her hands was swollen twice the size of the other. Her right arm was slick with violent red and her entire side was mopping up the blood that she was loosing. Her left thigh was in a similar state, it poured blood down in thick streams that dripped all the way down to her ankle. Superman's costume was dark and stained from her leg wound. _That _was one of the most disheartening, horrifying things I'd ever seen –the symbol of his emblem, the hopeful flash of blue and red was now stained and soaking with a horrible burgundy. And then there were strange, deep cuts all over Bella's poor, skinny body. Her arms, her legs, her neck, her hand that I could see –and what lay under the weird dress? More wounds?

But I think the scariest part of the entire image was her face. The way Superman held her, her head reeled back. She stared at the wall of the cave with lifeless, glazed eyes that were glassy, dull and red.

"I think she's in shock." Superman's voice cracked the horrified silence.

"My god," I heard Alfred whisper just faintly.

Superman laid her down on the table we'd cleared for her. All her limbs fell limply to the surface and she lay there awkwardly like a broken, mangled doll. Her head rolled to the side inelegantly, and her glazed, red eyes landed right on me. She stared right through me. I knew she wasn't really seeing a thing.

"What did they do to her?" I asked, my voice already thick with oncoming tears. I looked up as Superman turned away. I frowned, my eyes glistening. In a shaking voice I asked him, "Where are you going?"

"Back for Luthor," he hissed, and before I could reprimand him for his decision, he was gone.

Bella would have wanted him there. He was her rock. And apparently he cared more about revenge than he did about the girl who was like a kid sister to him.

I turned back to the scene, not concerned with Superman for much longer than two seconds. The other two weren't either. Mr. Wayne set to action immediately and his face took on a whole new look –sheer desperation. It was evident Bella's body was not going to put up with much more of whatever had been happening to her. Her breathing was quick and shallow, and a quick pulse-check from Alfred confirmed her heartbeat was weak. Mr. Wayne grabbed a pair of scissors and slit Bella's dress-thing open and he and Alfred peeled it off. Bella would have flipped if she was sane for that part of her saving. I thanked God that she still had a bra and underwear on.

As I suspected, her muscled abdomen was decorated in deep cuts, as were her upper thighs, most of her chest and the deep indents of her hips.

Mr. Wayne's evaluation of Bella's condition only took about thirty seconds. His hands darted over her body, checking and rechecking –he had a diagnosis so quickly I was wary of its validity. But there was no arguing with him, not at a time like this.

"The blood loss and the dehydration are what we have to worry about first," he said, his voice was quick and tight –no emotion other than authority was present in his tone, "Alfred, get the ice packs –we need to get her fever down."

"Right away, Sir." Alfred said breathlessly and jogged into a back room behind the large computer.

"Ruby, get some water," Mr.Wayne said.

I didn't even confirm the order. I just sprinted after Alfred into the little room where we'd prepared every possible thing we thought we could need if Superman were to deliver her in a state like this. There was a jug of water off in the corner. I turned the spigot and water rushed into the plastic cup that I grabbed. I ran back out a few seconds after Alfred. My heart was going buck wild in my chest, I thought it might explode.

Alfred was laying the icepacks over Bella's stomach and chest. Her eyes stayed glued to the same spot they had fallen on when Superman first set her down. But now they seemed even more lifeless, as I tried to lift her head a bit and support her neck. Her eyelids drooped and her honey eyes rolled up. I tipped the cup frantically to her white lips. My hand was shaking so bad I couldn't even keep it pressed to her flesh.

I managed to control myself as Mr. Wayne and Alfred tried to staunch the flow of blood from the two worst wounds on her. Water poured against her closed mouth and dribbled down the sides of her chin that were crusted in blood.

"C'mon, hon," I pleaded in a hoarse whisper. My throat felt like it was closing up.

Her mouth fell open just slightly and a bit of water made its way down. It was not enough, I knew. I had spent enough time with dehydration back on the streets, and new its signs well. Her skin had lost its elasticity; that was apparent as I held her swollen face. That was bad, really, _really_ bad. Her body was begging for liquid, and I couldn't give it to her fast enough. But I kept trying, determined to get the water in her mouth and not down the sides.

"We need the rubbing alcohol, material for stitches and gauze," Mr. Wayne was saying. His voice sounded very far away, as did Alfred's hurried footsteps.

I turned my head just to see their progress. Mr. Wayne's hands were stained red and the cloth he was using to mop up the mess was absolutely scarlet and dripping with thick, pungent blood. He was breathing only through his nose and his breaths were quick and short, as if he couldn't even be bothered with the time it took to get oxygen.

Alfred came back and the two started disinfecting her wounds, Alfred at her leg and Mr. Wayne at her arm, right next to me. Then they both worked expertly at stitching the flaps of flesh that refused to stop bleeding, and then wrapped gauze and bandages around her limbs.

"She's still loosing too much blood," Mr. Wayne hissed. I wasn't sure if he was talking to himself, or to Alfred and me. His head shot up suddenly after half a second of contemplation.

"Alfred, do we still have that bag of Lactated Ringer's Solution?"

"I don't think we got rid of it –but Sir, we don't have an IV."

"It can be taken orally," Mr. Wayne snapped -frustration and anxiety were thick in the pursed grooves of his forehead. He went back to trying to wrap Bella's arm and Alfred dutifully left to find the solution.

I knew what it was, surprisingly. It was something hospitals used for fluid resurrection after blood loss.

I only knew because of that one time we had to bring Tommy in after he got shot, and being as stubborn as I was, I refused to leave his side as the doctors tried to save him.

"Will that work?" I asked, still trying to funnel water into Bella's mouth. Her body convulsed as she choked on the last little dosage and I pressed my arm against her shoulders to keep her from writhing around.

Mr. Wayne gave me a gruff nod and tugged hard at the bandage around her arm. He tore the end of the strip with his teeth, looking perfectly insane –an animal. I drew away from his brutishness, afraid of the man when he was like that. I turned back to Bella just as Alfred ran up with the solution.

"Give it to Ruby," Mr. Wayne said with another quick nod.

Alfred handed me the little pouch. I guessed it wasn't strange for _Batman_ to have a bit of this lying around. It probably came in handy more than a few times. But did it really work orally? I was skeptical, and scared out of my mind. I found the opening, punctured it, and then tried to let it drip into Bella's partially opened mouth. It must have tasted horrible because she gagged and almost puked in her half-conscious state.

"I know, sweetie, but you gotta get this down," I said, as if she could hear me.

Alfred pressed his hand to her forehead.

"Her fever is down."

I kept feeding her the solution. Two pairs of eyes bored into my work, making me uncomfortable. I got a good amount of the pouch into her system, and Mr. Wayne told me to stop at that point. I drew away just a bit, running my finger longingly down the side of her cheek. There was silence for a long, agonizing minute. I stepped back more.

"Is she going to make it?" I asked, not being able to stand the silence any longer and clutching the pouch to my chest as if it were a comforting teddy bear.

"Why isn't she coming to?" Mr. Wayne asked a few seconds after my question died in the cold air of the cave.

Bella's eyes were closed now, but she was noticeably breathing. And her chest rose and fell with more rhythm now, which was a bit of a comfort.

Alfred placed a bloodstained hand on Mr. Wayne's shoulder.

"Give her time, Master Bruce. She'll come around when she's ready. We've done all we can."

So we waited. For the third time that night we waited in horrible, insufferable silence. I swore I could hear all of our heart beats, which were coming down from the adrenaline rush. I ached all over for some reason. All I wanted to do was collapse. The entire ordeal, which could not have been more than twenty minutes, had physically and emotionally drained me. It was hard to tell if Alfred and Mr. Wayne were in the same state. Mr. Wayne's face was stone cold as usual, though his eyes I knew were imploring Bella's lifeless body to come around.

Suddenly, he moved. He reached forward and took Bella's face in his big hands. He leaned down.

"Bella, if you can hear me –look at me," he whispered. A few locks of hair fell disheveled in front of his furrowed brow.

That was the point I started crying. Big tears started rolling down my reddening cheeks. I snorted loudly in an effort to stifle my sob. Alfred moved behind me and put an arm around my trembling shoulders. More tears fell as Bella remained unresponsive. Were we too late? What if she died anyway? She was as much of a sister to me as she was my own child –I practically raised her when she showed up at the gang's doorstep. A mother's anguish of seeing her daughter fighting for life hit me and my chest felt like it was being wrung out like wet laundry. I hiccupped and snorted again. Alfred's grip tightened on me in a reassuring way. The squeeze seemed to say 'Just wait a few more seconds. She'll come around.'

Mr. Wayne pleaded with her again.

"I know you're stronger than this, Bella. You can fight it. Don't go to sleep."

I swore I saw her eyelids flutter, but she stayed immobile for a few more seconds. Mr. Wayne's muscled shoulders sank in defeat, but he kept his hands on her face. I couldn't see his expression, and I guessed that's exactly how he wanted it. I imagined a whole lot of pain on that strong man's face right then.

But…there- all of a sudden. I almost missed the movement. Her good hand, with a slit palm, suddenly rose up and brushed weakly at his knuckles. I let out a happy hiccup of relief and the tears came faster than ever. I put my hand over my mouth to quiet the loud sobs that were threatening to break through.

"Can you look at me?" Mr. Wayne prodded to Bella, who still had her eyes closed.

Her eyelids definitely fluttered that time. And her cracked, bloody lips twitched just slightly.

"C'mon Blackberry," I said wetly, forcing small smile, "Everyone's waiting for you."

Finally, her eyes opened. And I could tell she was actually seeing things then. Her golden gaze darted back and forth, taking in her surroundings for the first time. She locked eyes with Mr. Wayne then, I could see that from my angle. The look in her eyes made my knees weak –the pureness in them was heart wrenching.

Of course, Bella being Bella, attempted to sit up. Mr. Wayne wrapped an arm around her back to support her.

Then she collapsed sideways into him, wrapped her gangly, cut up arms around his neck and buried her face into the crook of his shoulder.

My happy notes of relief broke then, and my joyful sobs finally rose to their desired volume in the cave. I spun and pulled poor Alfred in a hug which probably almost broke him in half, and then turned back to Mr. Wayne and Bella who looked just content to be in that position forever.


	25. Chapter 25

**BELLA**

My recovery was slow, as was to be expected. I think I spent the first five days of it sleeping, trying to decipher what was a dream and what was actually happening around me. The sleep was good for me though, I was recharging my battery that had almost run itself dead. When I wasn't sleeping I was eating. And boy did I eat like an absolute pig. No, not even a pig, I ate like a _dinosaur_. I probably gained all the weight back that I'd lost and then some in those first few days of my recovery. Alfred made me all my favorites, and when I was conscious I made sure he knew I was grateful.

I couldn't talk in those first few days, my throat was absolutely destroyed and so was my voice. Not that I had the energy to have a conversation if I'd wanted to, it was an effort for me to even get a mouth around the lip of a cup without passing out from exhaustion.

Around the sixth or seventh day after my rescue I started waking up at a normal time in the morning. It was a bit of a downer actually, because I did nothing but sit in bed all day. I got up to go to the bathroom, and that was about it. And I tried to even avoid those trips when I could, because my leg was virtually lost to me because of the pain and the meds Bruce was giving me, so I had to hobble and stumble my way into the bathroom. And my arm was messed up too, so it just felt like everything was agonizingly hard and painful. But I was so bored just sitting there all day.

The most excitement I had was Bruce coming in to disinfect my bite wounds. The disinfecting bonding time we had was not as bad as my electrocuting sessions with Luthor, but pretty damn close. It felt like Bruce was pouring acid over my open, raw flesh. The only positive thing was that I had been under much worse pain after my 'experience' and I could withhold a scream effortlessly.

Ruby stayed for two whole weeks. It was great to have her there with me. Even after the years of separation, and betrayal on my part – with her it was like nothing had ever changed. We ran seamlessly together once again and never for a moment had any awkward friction between us. Not only did that girl wait on me hand and foot, she was like my physiologist that entire week. Not in the sense of my trauma though, we didn't talk about that. My mental stability and my coping with my trauma were not spoken of at all until the end of the week with Bruce. But all that I'll explain either.

No, Ruby was more of the kind of gal pal physiologist. When my voice came back and I was well enough to carry a conversation, I took the opportunity to vent to her about Clark and Bruce. I told her absolutely everything, and it was wonderful to have another girl's opinion on the matter. I hadn't been able to talk to anyone about my feelings about that particular situation but myself. Also, talking to Ruby about that kept my mind off of what had just happened –what I was slowly rebuilding myself from. It kept me from realizing it was an aftermath that I was healing through.

But, speaking of Clark…

That night when I finally woke out of my shock, bleeding, panting, suffering –and in my bra and panties too, an added bonus- I asked where Clark was in the last ounce of my voice that I could push out. Ruby informed everyone that he had gone back for Luthor.

Yeah, that pissed me off a bit. Alright, it pissed me off a lot, but that is only about fifty percent of why I wanted to kill him in the first few weeks of my recovery. The other fifty percent was how annoying he when he finally showed up at the manor, when he got the call from Bruce that I was awake. I knew he meant well, but he pretty much attacked me when he got the chance.

First it was the smothering and watery eyes, the mushy gushy shit that I would have thought was sweet if it was taken down a notch. I think he went a little over board, especially considering the fact that he couldn't have cared _that_ much if he had gone back for Luthor instead of making sure I wasn't going to die on the bloodied table in the bat cave. And when I told him I wanted to know what happened to Luthor, all he would tell me is that he was 'taken care of'. He _wouldn't _tell me. I wanted to hear that Luthor had been chopped into little bitty pieces and scattered in every dumpster in Metropolis. But I knew Clark hadn't killed him, and he assured me of this anyway. But when I probed he dismissively shook his head.

I had the right to know. Did he think I was too fragile, or in too vulnerable a state to even think about the fate of Luthor? News flash, wonder boy –I got fucking mauled by two German Sheppard's and came out okay, I think I could have handled it.

I never got an answer out of him. Before I could ask him any more questions he started up on his own. I'm sure he had about three years worth of questions stuck inside that head of his and he spat them out at me every three seconds. And if I didn't answer right away he'd get up close and concerned.

"Bella? Bella are you okay? Bella!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Clark! I'm thinking! That's usually what people _do_ when someone asks them a question."

I was usually always grumpy during my recovery, and I swore a lot more. It was mostly the pain that made me touchy, but only took it out on Clark because he was the annoying one. No one else asked questions. I was sure they were dying to…I would have been. But they were smart enough, or at least Bruce was and gave the other two careful, firm direction, to give me my space. Clark apparently had not gotten the memo.

_Maybe if I just shove it down his throat…_

But aside from my injuries and all the people who were taking care of me –my mind was the one in the most distress. I don't even think I realized how bad that experience screwed with my head.

The nightmares started. But they weren't normal nightmares, more like hardcore night terrors. Most of the time I didn't even remember having them when I woke up the next morning. But I would hear from Bruce because his room was the closest, that I was screaming bloody murder and thrashing around. He told me he'd come in and try to calm me down, and after a few minutes I'd stop screaming and I'd be out again. You would think I'd scream loud enough to wake myself up, but I never did. Ruby started staying in my room after that so she could try calm me before I woke everyone else up.

But other than my subconscious, nothing else seemed too damaged about my mental state. If anything I was bolder.

In fact, something monumental seemed to come out of the entire ordeal. All I can say is at the end of the three week mark of my recovery, I was much, _much_, bolder.


	26. Chapter 26

_Author's Note:_

_I'll give a warning. This chapter is a bit...ahem...steamy. _

_It's innocent steamy, but steamy all the same. :_

* * *

At the end of my recovery, I wasn't as messed up as I thought I'd be. Instead of cracking me and then letting myself build wall after wall to protect the scared seed that I could have turned into, I blossomed. I functioned quite normally when I could get up and walk again, I wasn't paranoid, I didn't stare off into the distance and have the horrible memories take hold of me. It was almost as if I'd never left. Granted, subconsciously was an entirely different story. The nightmares were the only indication that I'd been through the trauma.

But I think the experience further stressed to me the idea that life is very, very short. And not just mine. Everyone's life was just as short and breakable as mine, maybe even more so.

Like Bruce's. I think that realization in itself is what led to that night at the three week mark of my recovery.

My stitches had been out for a few days, the color had come back to my face, my eating habits returned to normal, I could get up and walk around just fine –the only thing that still plagued me were my nightmares.

So, as if fate were rewarding me for my triumph through my hardship –I slept with Bruce.

Okay, okay, I didn't _sleep_, sleep with Bruce. I literally just _slept_ with him, as in the same bed. No sex. None. Whatsoever. Sure, there was definitely some PG-13 stuff going on, but we did _not_ have sex. Disappointing, right?

Actually, it wasn't really all that disappointing.

I don't really know how it all came about. In those heated moments, does anyone ever? There was no rewind on the event, no fast-forward, no slow motion (just kidding) - it just simply _happened_. We weren't even drunk, and I wasn't even in a skimpy cocktail dress. That's what made it even more special, I was convinced he really cared. Because it all happened with me in grungy sweatpants and a tank top, with my new boy-hair in a messy heap about my head.

Sure, he's a little old for me. But Clark's adoptive parents were eleven years apart. Bruce and I were only nine, so it wasn't _so_ weird. I mean, honestly, a friend I worked with at the Dailey Planet had an uncle and aunt who were forty years apart. Now _that's_ creepy. This wasn't.

Bruce called me into the living room at around eleven. I was down in the bat cave searching like a madwoman for any mention of Luthor and his arrest. Clark still wouldn't tell me what happened so I was left to my own devices, which turned up fruitless again and again. I was frustrated and eager for any sort of break, so I quickly came up the stairs and met Bruce at the top.

He led me to the couch and sat down. I sat down across from him and folded my legs pretzel style. The warmth of the fire to my right kissed my bare shoulders and erased the chill from the cave. I watched the color of the flames flicker on the elegant shape of Bruce's cheekbone. He smoothed his large hands on his knees.

"We're going to try and get rid of your nightmares," he said softly and with an affirmative nod.

"How?" I asked nervously. I was a bit wary of where the conversation was headed.

He gave me a reassuring half-smile and leaned back against the couch.

"Let's talk," was all he said, and the deepness of those two words rumbled in his chest that was covered by a plain blue t-shirt that did nothing to hinder the subtle accents of the muscle over the planes of his torso.

He took the best approach he could of, which wasn't a surprise to me. Bruce always knew what to do and what to say and how to go about things. He just sat back and waited for me to talk about what happened. It was so much better than Clark's stupid approach –which was to drown me in questions like I was being interrogated for a murder.

Clark made me feel like I was being punished when he asked me questions. Bruce just sat back thoughtfully, drinking in every word I said and wearing that face he did when I knew he was really, _really_ listening to me. It was stress-free environment, with just a few probing questions here and there to keep me on track.

I spilled everything to him.

I started with my kidnapping, and then my hair, the slices in my skin (which had become angry pink scabs) and what their purpose was, the electrocuting sessions –the whole deal. I was surprised how strong I was talking about it, my voice didn't waver for a second and I didn't cry. It was almost weird how robotic I was to the entire situation, and how I was looking at it from a point of view outside my body. When I described my escape back to him I was watching myself from an aerial view.

_Because that wasn't Bella running away…that was just an empty body in survival mode_.

I spoke this aloud, saying things that only my brain had heard in the last few weeks. Not even Ruby heard my philosophies and ponderings about the ordeal. I had been keeping them all to myself. I kept them to myself especially when Clark tried to force them out of me.

"_How did it make you feel?"_

"_Clark, what the hell is this? You're not a fucking physiatrist."_

"_Answer the question, Bella."_

"_Jesu- I don't know Clark. It made me feel absolutely fucking peachy."_

Bruce didn't try and force my feelings out of me. They came naturally under his inquisitive blue gaze.

But this is all the boring part –all I did was repeat what happened to him. The interesting part was when my throat finally went dry.

The fire had fully warmed me by then; I could feel my cheeks were flushed from the heat. I'd been running my hand through my hair so it ran in weird waves to the side and curled around my left cheek. My mouth was dry and the sticky strawberry of my chapstick tasted weird on my tired tongue. My muscles were tight from sitting in the same position for a little over an hour.

Bruce had stayed more or less immobile through all my talking. He looked picture perfect and untouched, as always. His broad shoulders were relaxed against the cushions and he had his body twisted towards me so he was leaning up against the arm rest.

I came to the end of my "monologue".

"So I guess that's when Clark picked me up, even though I thought he was like an angel or something because I thought I was already dead, ya know?"

Bruce nodded.

I ran my hand through my hair again. It had already become a nervous habit.

"And then, I guess...he brought me back here and you…saved me," I chuckled uncomfortably, thankful for the fire as an excuse for my red cheeks.

I let my eyes finally meet his. I had refused to let them throughout my entire story for fear I'd be thrown off guard. But now all I saw the deep, pure color of his eyes, reflecting the fire. He stared right back at me. The hardness of his mouth faded.

We stayed like that for who knows how long. We just stared at one another, staring, staring, and staring. It should have been awkward, but strangely enough it wasn't. It was comfortable even, just losing my head in his eyes and letting everything else fade.

Suddenly he leaned forward off the arm of the couch. This broke the smoothness of the moment just for a moment, and the room quickly came back to life.

"I went out and looked for you every night," he murmured close to my face. His voice rolled languidly as the fluidity of the moment returned.

_Oh lord_, I remember thinking. I felt my breath hitch.

My nervous eyes went to his perfect brown hair that danced with orange from the fire, and then to the sharp line of his jaw, and the softness of his mouth, the slant of his regal nose, the fair lashes that cradled his dark eyes.

"Thanks," I whispered idiotically, completely ruining the romantic moment.

But Bruce apparently didn't notice, or didn't care.

His hand slid up around the back of my neck and to the base of my skull. He held my head gently as our lips met.

This time there was no curiosity in the brush of flesh. We both knew, or at least subconsciously knew, this was _right_. And we both seemed to realize at that moment that we lived in a world that could rip up either of us into little tiny pieces in the blink of an eye. We knew we could loose each other, and that our lives were so dangerous that either of us could be extinguished tomorrow. We were frantic in that moment.

Our lives were both short, and we needed to make the best of _us_ while we still had the breath in our lungs. We needed each other, right then, right there –while we still had the chance.

The kiss deepened, he crawled forward as I fell gingerly back against the couch. I ran my hands up his chest, feeling the warm grooves of muscle through the thin material of his shirt. He smelled wonderfully crisp and fresh and his face was smooth and cool against my warm one as our mouths continued to stay connected.

His mouth moved down to my jaw, sliding down the bone until his lips sweetly brushed my chin.

I wasn't thinking about Clark when my hands rolled up the end of his shirt. I wasn't thinking about Ruby, or Alfred or Lois, I wasn't even thinking about Caleb. I was just thinking about _him_, his scent, the coolness of his skin, the warmth of his breath, the strength in his kiss –you could have dumped us both into the ocean and I wouldn't have noticed. He filled up every part of my brain and there simply wasn't room for anything else.

His shirt slid up and over his wide shoulders and it got tossed to the floor. His bare skin glowed amber against the fire.

Suddenly he heaved me up in one swift motion; still managing to keep our mouths pressed together, and then let my legs fall. His hand wrapped around my back to keep me upright and I leaned into him as we both staggered like drunkards through the living room.

We made it haphazardly to the stairs, stumbling and tripping all the way while running our hands through each other's hair. My shirt was off by then and I was quite happy with myself for wearing my best bra that day. It was smooth leopard print (an essential factor) and fit just perfect. I wasn't even thinking about my newly formed scars.

We staggered and blundered up the stairs. It's really not as easy as movies make it seem. I almost did a face plant and we both almost went reeling back down the flight at least six times. We both had our eyes closed the entire time and we were writhing around and gripping what ever we could of each other –those elements made for a turbulent journey. Bruce somehow managed to get his jeans off in the midst of all that chaos and even during my euphoria I noted his briefs were black.

Very fitting.

We finally made it into his room. I'd always pictured it much bigger and more furnished. It was pretty simple, really, which I guess made sense. Fulfilling the Batman role meant he probably didn't go in there much, since most of his nights were spent on the streets.

But that night, the plainness was more than perfect. It was small enough to be cozy but big enough to be exhilarating. The bed that I tripped backwards onto (only I could pull something off like that) was lavish and comfortingly unmade –the sheets and blankets strewn at the foot of it. I sunk into the cushioning as if the mattress was eating me up. I slinked out of my pants, not bothering to check what underwear I was wearing, and continued to play tonsil hockey with the billionaire play boy.

I wondered how many girls would kill to be in my position, as Bruce crawled over me and ran his hand gently down my bare side and then let his palm rest at the groove of my hip. He pressed against the bone as he lowered himself farther into the kiss.

Well, maybe not too many, I realized. Because we both knew realized it wasn't going to happen –we couldn't…"do the deed". Neither of us was ready for that step in our relationship, and we knew no one else would be either. It just wasn't the right time. And sure, we were already out of most of our clothes –but that's as far as we were going to get.

And I was okay with that. I was content to kiss the daylights out of him in my underwear that night. I expected nothing more, and I yearned for nothing more. This was a safe step in our relationship with all the benefits. I was having a ball.

I ran my hands around his back, feeling his heavy muscles roll under my smooth palms. His breathing was quick as was mine, and our breaths through our noses sounded enraged because we refused to break our mouths apart. He rolled over suddenly and I flopped on top of him –quite ungracefully I might add- still kissing him hungrily. It was as if we couldn't get enough of each other, we needed more, and more, and more –like one of us was going to fade away forever in the next second.

My fingers raked through his brown hair which was soft and thick in my hands. It was no longer perfectly combed and professional about his head, it stuck up every which way at the work of my passionate hands. I'm sure mine was even worse, because it had looked like a dead animal before we'd even started.

His hand slid down the back length of my thigh and lingered at the indent of my knee. His touch was so surprisingly gentle and soft. For a man as big and as intimidating as him, his hands and demeanor in this situation were that of a curious, sweet boy.

I ran my hands all over his torso, feeling the rise of his many scars –there were enough of them to give even my lacerated body a run for its money. But however marred he was, he was still godly –the meager moonlight that dropped in from the open window at our right dusted his impressive physique in silver and made him look like something right out an art museum.

And here I was all bruised and busted up, too skinny for my own good, etc. It was at that point in my quick comparison of our bodies that I wished I had a more impressive cup size. But then my eyes drifted closed again and our mouths reunited, he smoothed his palms across my skin, and I felt beautiful. I felt like the most beautiful thing on the damn planet in his arms.

Was this how love was supposed to feel? My memories with Caleb were fuzzy and fading, and were tainted with the elation of young, inexperienced love. So now that I had matured, was I sure this was the real thing?

You bet your boots I was.

I leaned my head up and let my mouth stroll up the side of his face to his warm temple.

His lips touched at my warm shoulder –I was burning up by then- and then danced sideways down the rise of my collar bone. Goose bumps rose despite my heat as his mouth ended up at the base of my throat. He made a soft sound that washed against my skin, it could have been my name, and then his fingertips grazed my spine. He ran his fingers up and down the groove of my back hypnotically and I sank, limp against him. I rested my head right over his heart.

My eyelids drooped with the lulling movements of his fingertips up and down my back. I was pretty much lying blissfully on top of him, with one of my hands lying limply curled on his chest. His free hand was running softer now through my hair, the heated craze gone and a sweet tenderness in its place.

We caught our breath together, just lying there until our chests relaxed and started rising in slow, even beats. I was so sleepy that I couldn't even collect my thoughts enough to say anything, or even take an inward victory toward Lois, or be nervous about what repercussions this would have, etc. My mind was still filled with him, and now the intoxicating perfume of sleep that was gnawing at the corners of my consciousness.

We had certainly come a _long_ way. I thought back on just months earlier when I was the weird misfit girl at the Daily Planet, watching sadly on as the, he strange, handsome millionaire, whisked away my bitchy rival –and then being that weird girl stuffing myself with ice cream as he, the dark and mysterious Batman, came swooping through my apartment window. It seemed like such a long time ago.

It really wasn't.

The window in his room blew a chilling fall breeze through the room and stirred me from my comical memories. Bruce gently moved me up a bit until I felt a pillow under my head. He rose into the sitting position, leaving me for just a moment. But in less than a second he was back at my side and pulling up the blankets with him. Silky fabric slid over my supple skin and Bruce's and the cold air could no longer get to us.

He came close again and I wriggled my legs a bit, which felt like a colossal effort for some reason, to press myself to his side. I felt like I was a million pounds as I nuzzled my head against his shoulder and then wrapped a lazy arm over his stomach. I brought my knees up just a bit so they were entwined with his. He gave a long, warm sigh moved his arm around my head.

His fingertips ran through my hair until I fell asleep.


	27. Chapter 27

I woke up suddenly.

It was morning; a bird singing faintly outside signaled this. But the room was absolutely dark and the sharp bitterness of the fall breeze had vanished. I rolled my sleepy eyes open and tried to focus on the spot where I thought the window had been. Once my eyes adjusted I could see the soft folds of the thick curtain, closed tight. The sunlight had no way of getting in. I guessed Bruce had closed the window and the curtains after I'd fallen asleep.

_Bruce_.

The images, the scents, the heat of the night before flooded back to me. I stirred just a bit and became aware of his body. He was practically on top of me. He was face down in the pillows with one heavy arm draped over my chest, half of his weight pressed to mine, and our legs were somehow wound together.

It wasn't the most romantic way to wake up, but I loved it all the same. I breathed out a long sigh, completely forgetting to wonder why I had woken up out of a dead sleep. I was content to just lie there with the shadows resting on our tangled bodies. I closed my eyes dreamily, ready to drift back again.

Then I heard it.

"Master Bruce?" Then a few gentle knocks on the wooden door.

My body tightened in wild fear. My eyes flew open and I sent a frenzied look to the dark shape of Bruce's sleeping face that was half in pillows and half turned toward me. I prayed his eyes would snap open like mine. Maybe he'd heard Alfred too? I waited on tenterhooks for even a flicker of his eyelid.

Nothing but a soft snore rumbled from him.

"Master Bruce?" Another round of knocking, more persistent than before.

I screamed inside my head. What the hell was I going to do?

I wriggled from under Bruce to try and get one of my hands free. When I finally could I flicked his head. He didn't stir. I whipped my fingers through his hair, still nothing. I pinched his arm as hard as I could –nada. I plugged his nose to no avail and then as last resort I stuck my finger in my mouth, slobbered it up, found his ear and shoved it in. I watched him, waiting for him to bolt up out of his slumber.

All I got was another snore. I got more frantic then and started slapping at his head.

"Bruce! _Bruce!_ Bruce wake up!" I whispered harshly.

If I could just get him up maybe he'd have a solution. He was Batman for Christ's sake; he could get out of anything, couldn't he? But no matter how hard I tried he wouldn't wake up –he was sleeping like a dead man.

"Master Bruce, are you awake?" Alfred called.

"Jesus, are you even alive?" I hissed under my breath, trying to jostle his head with my panicking hand. My other hand was still pinned down under him.

I wondered if I should risk trying to impersonate the dark rumble of Bruce's voice. I cleared my throat just softly, testing out my still weak vocal chords.

No…definitely not.

_Shit, shit, shit_.

Maybe if I did it fast I could squirm all the way under the covers so Alfred wouldn't be able to see me. Or maybe I could jump up really fast and go hide in the closet.

Before I could do anything the doorknob clicked. I snapped my eyes shut and ripped my hand back to my side. I tried to relax the tremors of my eyelids and look perfectly asleep. There was nothing I could do now.

My ears rang with the soft sweep of the door opening. I could see it perfectly in my head- Alfred happily strolling in with the paper and Bruce's robe, smiling amiably. I heard his footsteps cross the room as he went for the curtains.

_Don't do it Alfred. Please for the love of God, don't do it. _

"I swear, Master Bruce, you're becoming more like a _bat_ every day. It's already eleven."

His footsteps stopped. I mentally swore every single swear known to man as I heard the quick whisking of fabric. Light spilled into the room like a wildfire.

_Busted_.

"Pretty soon you're going to become noctur…" Alfred's voice trailed off. I could almost feel incredulous gaze.

There was a deathly silent pause before he spoke again.

"Well I'll be bloody damned_._"

It took _everything _in me not to sputter a laugh. My cheeks went crimson and my body heated up as if someone had flipped a switch. Judging from the volume and direction of his voice I guessed he was right at the foot of the bed. I hoped that was far away enough to not be able to see the sudden darkness of my face.

"Well that explains your jeans lying in the stairwell, Master Bruce," Alfred quietly said. There was a smirk in his voice and I thought I heard the ghost of a chuckle following his footsteps.

After a few moments the door shut softly behind him. I held my breath until I couldn't hear his footsteps in the hall anymore. When I was sure I was safe, I whimpered.

"Perfect," I told the ceiling dryly.

Then, a whole minute late, Bruce finally stirred.

"Oh, _now_ you move," I whispered heatedly to him, still staring at the ceiling. My face was still burning.

I don't think he heard me, because all he did was shift his weight over onto his back and start snoring again. I narrowed my eyes and shot his sleeping face a venomous look**. **I could have gotten my revenge and like dipped his fingers in cold water or something. But instead I surrendered to his warm chest.

I didn't mean to fall asleep again, but when I woke up the second time he was gone. I had expected that, but couldn't help but be disappointed. Him not being there in the morning was probably a symbol of our 'relationship' now. We couldn't have a stable relationship the way we worked, could we? It should have been simply a teacher/student relationship but of course with my weakness to do whatever my first instinct told me, and his ability to woo anything with a pulse out of her shirt –it was almost inevitable that it would have come to this.

But what were we now? What was I to him?

I couldn't answer these questions for myself. So I stole the sheet from Bruce's bed and wrapped it around myself fin a misshapen toga. I darted out of his room and sprinted to mine, praying that no one would turn the hall corner and see me, and once I was safely inside I shut the door behind me. I flopped on my bed which had become familiar and hugged my body in just the right places.

I called Ruby before I even bothered getting dressed. We gushed and giggled like girls do for a few minutes as I poured every little detail of the story to her, but when the excitement of the telling wound down there was something else in its place. I knew it before Ruby even said it.

"You have to tell Clark."

My initial reaction, which I voiced out loud to her, was: "No way in _hell_, Ruby. He'd flip shit."

Ruby snorted on the other end, "That could be dangerous."

There was a pause and her soft sigh crackled through the speakers. The sigh nestled in my body and I replied with one of my own.

"He's going to find out eventually, Bells, and I'm sure he'd _much_ rather hear it from you first. Maybe you'll get brownie points for being honest too?"

I hated how much the conversation made it seem like Clark was my father. Sure, he was the authoritive power, but I was a young woman. I didn't have to be worried about telling him, did I? I shouldn't be, it was _my_ life, and it wasn't like he could ground me or something. By the time I hung up with Ruby I was almost angry. I was so set on the idea that Clark was _not_ my father, and he couldn't tell me who to love. Soap opera much?

I called him while I was still angry, which probably wasn't the smartest idea. But I've never had many of those.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Clark. It's me."

"Bella! How are you? How are you holding up? What's wrong?"

_Only three seconds and he's already interrogating_, I thought with a clenched jaw. I swallowed to keep from snapping at him and took a long breath.

"I'm fine, nothing's wrong. I…I just need to tell you something," I struggled to build confidence. I had to keep telling myself that I had done nothing wrong. This was nothing to be ashamed of. I led my own life.

"Go right ahead, I'm all ears," Clark said cheerily.

I kinda blurted it out without strategizing how I would break it to him. It all just sort of fell out of my mouth in one huge word.

"I…IsleptwithBruce."

"YOU _WHAT_?" Something shattered on his end.

"Woah, wait, wait! Before you kill someone –I didn't _sleep_ with him. I just _slept_ with him!"

"Bella you're not making any sense," his voice was tight; I could almost see the fury written in the strong lines of his face and wondered for just a second what had broken on his end.

"We didn't…have…_sex_," I said uncomfortably, forcing out the word. Jesus, he _was_ like my father! I couldn't even say sex in front of the guy! "We just sort of…you know."

"No, Bella. I _don't_."

"We kissed…a lot."

Clark was silent.

"But that was _it!_ I swear!"

I sat up suddenly. The toga slipped from around my right shoulder.

"Wait, why the hell am I even explaining this to you? I don't have to. I told you just to be honest and of course you freak out."

"I appreciate your honesty," Clark said. But I could hear his teeth were clenched.

"Call me back after your sure you're not going to crush the phone, Clark," I snapped, and hung up.

I tossed the phone back onto the nightstand and stared grumpily up at the ceiling. Stupid Clark. At that time I was not thinking about how much the guy cared for me, and how he had been the one that saved me from what I could have become –and most recently from Luthor-, and how he had been the one to find me a job, give me a place to stay, put food in front of me, etc.

At that time all I was thinking about was how he'd left me for Luthor and how much I hated how father/daughter our relationship had become.

I finally got up and got dressed. I actually made an attempt to dress nicely, why, I wasn't really sure. Maybe because I was sure Bruce was actually going to notice that day, or maybe I assumed after that little romantic 'escapade' he would be looking at me in a new light.

I put on a pair of dark skinnies and a purple and white V-neck sweater. The forming scars on my chest were exposed, but I didn't care here. Outside the manor I'd probably never wear anything low cut again.

I went into the bathroom to try and control my hair. It was sticking up like a mowhawk still from the night before. Halfheartedly I dug a comb through the thick locks. I missed my hair more than anything; I would have sold my soul to have it all back. I used to look like freakin' Pocahontas (the Disney version at least) and now I looked like an awkward, Tinkerbelle. The new cut made my face look too round and my eyes too big, which made my nose look weird. But there was really nothing I could do about it. I wouldn't have hair that long again until I was in my thirties.

But I didn't dwell on my loss for long. I tried not to think about the experience at all in those days. I just pushed it in the very back of the big file cabinet in my brain, as I did with everything I didn't want to deal with. I swiped some eyeliner under my butterscotch eyes –at least they hadn't changed- and smacked a bit of strawberry lip gloss on my lips.

I flew out of my room and I jogged down the stairwell, wishing I could see an instant replay of Bruce's and mine rickety trek up them the night before. I bet it would have been hysterical to watch.

I made it down into the hall in the threshold of the dining room. I froze. I was starving, but did I dare make my presence known? Bruce wasn't inside but there was food. And it smelled like pancakes. My stomach gave a hollow grumble of impatience, suggesting that I needed to put something in there, and fast. But I hung back. Could I make a mad dash, grab some pancakes and then escape back up the stairs before Alfred could see me?

I tensed my body, ready to put my plan into action. But for the second time that morning my plans were thwarted as Alfred's smiling face came through the door.

"Good morning, Ms. Sweet," Alfred said lightly, carrying in another tray, "Or should I say afternoon?"

"I dunno….good mor-noon?" I choked with a hiccup of laughter. My face heated up again. I wasn't pulling the whole 'nonchalant' thing off very well.

"Sleep well?" Alfred asked as he set the tray down on the table. His back was to me but I bet you anything he was enjoying a bit of a smirk at that comment of his.

Well t_hat was the complete opposite of subtle. _

"Yup!" I squeaked and then bit my lip so hard I almost drew blood.

I looked around for Bruce; just hoping he himself would exit the kitchen and suppress the awkwardness, if only for a moment. Where was he, anyway? It was a Sunday, so there was no reason for him to be anywhere remotely related to work. Was he that disgusted with me that he just decided to take off so he wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath?

I frowned and opened my mouth to ask Alfred when a hand gingerly touched the small of my back.

"Blueberry pancakes, Master Bruce," Alfred said, facing us then with a smile.

"What would I do without you, Alfred?" Bruce asked his deep voice warm at the side of my head.

Alfred raised his eyebrows and unsuccessfully hid a smile, "Shall I list them off, Sir?" he asked before disappearing with a nod into he kitchen.

_Was he hinting to something?_

I went dark red again anyway and cast my eyes to the floor. Bruce's hand left my back and brushed, feather-like- against the back of my arm. Butterflies exploded in my stomach, quieting the growls, and I looked up at him. He gave me his famous, reserved smile and gestured with a nod of his head into the dining room.

He pulled my seat out for me and pushed it in when I had sat down. I watched him as he lowered into his own seat and reached forward to tip back the lid to one of the platters. Steam blossomed from inside and coiled about his face.

"I have good news," he said as he set the lid down beside the tray.

He reached forward with his fork and speared two blue spotted pancakes.

"What?" I asked, forking two of my own and laying them on my plate.

He looked up with a smile, his deep eyes genuinely happy. He ran his free hand through his thick hair which then slid softly back into place.

"You didn't scream at all last night."

I raised my eyebrows, my fork froze halfway to my mouth, "You mean no night terrors?"

"None. I slept like a rock."

_Tell me about it_, I thought dryly.

But a grin broke out along my mouth and I couldn't even relax it to get the bite of pancake inside. Bruce took a sip of his orange juice, but I could still see the faint crease lines of a smile in his lean cheeks. He swallowed and placed the cup down.

"I guess talking about it did the trick."

I smiled and nodded, but in my head I disagreed. Maybe it helped that I had poured my soul to him, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it had nothing to do with my curing at all. I think what really cleared the night terrors away was sleeping in his arms all night –the protective warmth beside me, our breaths mixing in the room, my subconscious felt safe and protected when I was with him. I was sure that was it.

But I didn't dare tell _him_ my philosophy.

"Guess so," I said instead, and finally got the first bite of pancake in my mouth.

But right after I swallowed, Alfred came into the dining room. There was something wrong in his face. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bruce tense and lean forward a bit.

"What is it, Alfred?"

Alfred looked to me, and his usually friendly mouth crinkled in distress.

"Ms. Sweet…you, erm….you have a _visitor_."


	28. Chapter 28

I didn't even bother folding my clothes. I was so angry that I just kept hurling piles into my open suitcase that was slowly becoming engorged with an array of color. I slammed an emptied drawer shut and it flew back into itself with a bang. I ripped open another and started the process over with my jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

_Bella's coming back with me…_

A snarl grumbled in my mouth as Clark's words, uttered just ten minutes earlier, scuttled around in my head. As the rerun crossed my mind I slammed the next emptied drawer a little bit harder than the last and one of my perfume bottles tipped over and rolled off the top of the bureau.

I was a grown woman. I had the right to make decisions on my own. I decided where I lived, what I did with my life, when I went out, when I came back –and Clark was roping me back into Metropolis like I was five years old. His excuse was that he was keeping me safer. He had never caught Luthor, he confessed. The asshole had an escape plan apparently and barely left a trace of the torment he'd caused me.

"_I think she's safest with me in Metropolis," Clark said, bracing his wide shoulders to try and intimidate Bruce. _

_Bruce stood behind me and clearly wasn't moved by the display. _

"_Are you saying she's not safe here?"_

"_That's exactly what I'm saying –she went missing on your watch, didn't she?"_

_Fire rose in my throat and I stood up a bit taller, "Clark you're being…"_

_He cut me off, "I can keep a better eye on her there, in case Luthor decides to try again."_

"_Bullshit!" I cried before Bruce could reply, "I know why you want me back in Metropolis with you, and it has _nothing_ to do with my safety."_

_Clark finally met my eyes. He hadn't looked at me straight since I entered the room. His face darkened dramatically in anger and a vein protruded from his temple. I held my ground, even though it was rare and frightening to see him this angry. At me of all people. _

"_Bella, go pack your things."_

"_Is that an order?" I asked venomously._

_Bruce's hand cupped gently around my shoulder. _

"_Do what he says," he murmured in low tones._

_I whirled, offended Bruce was taking Clark's side. Bruce's eyes were not their usual ice, but they were no where near warm. There was something unfamiliar in them, a tortured look I'd never seen before._

And that's when I stormed upstairs and started shredding my clothes from their once neat piles. It took about ten minutes to get all my clothes crammed into the suitcase before I moved into the bathroom to get my shampoo, soap, conditioner, etc. An empty mousse canister made a harsh ringing sound as I pitched it into the trash. Rage swam sharply inside me, when I looked into the mirror I saw my cheeks flushed and my brow furrowed dramatically.

My eyes were dry, though. I was too pissed off at that point to be sad about leaving Bruce. Besides, I'd done more crying here in the manor than I was proud of. I had to at least try to keep my dignity as I walked out of the place.

I finished in the bathroom and zipped up the first, larger suitcase. I heaved it up from the floor and then started to drag it down the hall, down the stairs –where the familiar scent of the wood reminded me of that heated night that got me into this mess- and into the welcoming room where Clark now stood alone. He looked at me with a hard glance as I rolled my suitcase to a stop. Then in childish fury I kicked the thing over so it landed loudly on the floor. Clark didn't flinch. In fact, his face didn't change at all.

I crossed the hallway and then stomped back upstairs. I lingered halfway up and leaned against the wall, hugging my arms around myself. I knocked my head against the wall and squeezed my eyes shut.

I was leaving behind so many good memories. Sure, there were a hell of a lot of unhappy memories here too, but in my opinion the good completely outweighed the bad. Making brownies with Alfred, dancing to Miley Cyrus, watching movies on the couch with Bruce, my first meeting with the Bellabike, my first kiss with Bruce, our training sessions, our soft, long talks –his wonderful blue eyes. The scent in the manor le t me plunge headfirst into my memories.

Alright, you can't blame me for crying this time.

I knocked my head against the wall and squeezed my eyes shut. Frustrated, angry tears burned the insides of my eyelids until they finally broke through my barriers and slipped like little diamonds down one cheek then the other. I groaned at myself and opened my eyes, swiping my fingers furiously under them. The elaborate stairwell seemed to smile sadly at me. I slammed my fist into the side of the wall; the dull pain got my head off my memories just long enough for me to control myself. I sniffed hard, swore, and then started walking again.

There was nothing I wanted to do more than just stay there with Bruce and Alfred. I was happy and I felt like I was growing into the woman I was supposed to be when I was with them. I knew I was unlocking secrets of life that most never got the key to.

I trudged up the stairs like I had weights on both my ankles. I shuffled down the hall and grabbed hold of the handle to my room. Guess it wasn't my room anymore. My real room was back in Metropolis, with the crappy quilt blanket and squeaky metal springs. I'd never get to sleep again in my old bed after the plush silken bed Bruce had given me, I was sure.

I opened the door gently and the familiar low groan of the hinges greeted me. Bruce was sitting on the foot of my bed with his large hands on his knees. I stared at him for a moment, taking in his perfection. Even in just a T-shirt, jeans and no shoes, he made my legs wobble.

He looked up at my entrance with a measured gaze. His face didn't change and his mouth stayed in a downturned line. Mortified, I wiped at my red face again.

"Hey," I muttered, my voice thick.

"Hey," he answered back, his voice deep and dark. He pretended not to notice my tears, thankfully.

He stood from the bed, grabbing hold of my second, smaller suitcase and rolling it with him as he met me halfway. I watched the bulge of muscle in his arm. My body ached to fit into those grooves of strength. I looked to the floor.

"I'll get this for you," Bruce said, sounding awkward as if we were strangers. He didn't have any trouble meeting my eyes though, even though I couldn't stand to keep mine on his for more than a second at a time.

"Thanks," I said, looking over the room once more though not really seeing a thing, and went to turn around to the door. I was desperate to get out of his sight –I hated when _anyone_, especially Bruce, saw me like this.

He grabbed my arm and gently drew me around until I was facing him. His hand smoothed up my elbow and then came to a rest at my shoulder; his other cupped my face and his thumb brushed at the moisture under my left eye. All my muscled relaxed as my body got its fix.

I leaned into his large chest. His ever present warmth surrounded me. Every ridged curve of his body seemed to cradle my body. The familiarity of him was a comfort, but only for a moment. Then I remembered I was leaving him, maybe forever. I was sure I'd see him again, but there was no way in hell Clark was going to let me visit the manor anytime soon. Our growing intimacy was going to wither away.

Bruce would forget about me. With me out of his life, he would go on to date supermodels and bring girls into his room every night without a second thought. And I'd be sitting in Metropolis, eating ice cream to try and numb the depression –right back where I started.

I raised my face and let my eyes fixate on his lips. My favorite thing about him was the vulnerable indent of his bottom lip; it drew in just a little, as if it were perfectly molded to have my mouth fitted against it. I tilted my face up and he leaned down.

Our lips met sweetly and lightly…then we broke away. Unsatisfying, to say the least.

Bruce's hand slid from my shoulder, but he said nothing. When I looked up into his eyes, I saw nothing. All the emotion that I had begun to be able to read in the time I'd spent with him turned foreign once again. I felt my face crumple. I wanted to say something cheesy, like 'Don't forget me,' but my lips wouldn't work. They were still electric with the last taste of his mouth and they trembled furiously as I tried to keep from bawling.

I wanted to throw a tantrum, honestly. This was unfair on so many levels.

"This isn't goodbye," Bruce said, I looked up and found a reassuring half-smile on his face.

I wasn't convinced.

We went downstairs together into the welcoming room. Clark adjusted his glasses and watched us with narrowed eyes.

"Ready?"

I nodded tightly. I was trying too hard to keep from crying, I feared if I tried to talk I'd hiccup. I turned finally then to Alfred who had made his way towards me. I bounded into him and squeezed my arms around him, burying my face in the front of his black suit.

"Until next time, Ms. Sweet," he said with a chuckle at my attack hug.

I smiled into his chest, but it was a heartbroken smile. I pulled away, my lips pressed so tightly together I'm sure they were white, and nodded.

"See ya, Alfred."

And then I was gone.

Gotham City was rolling by me, its various scents and noises pressing against my face as the open car window let it all in. I had the volume on the radio turned up as loud as it would go, which was pretty freaking loud. The car shook with the bass; I could feel it in my chest.

Clark didn't turn it down. Whether he was trying to be nice or if he just didn't want to deal with me at all, I wasn't sure. Either way, we didn't speak the entire way to the city. The darkness and thrill of Gotham faded as we reached the dull, beautiful façade of Metropolis. Familiar buildings and roads might have comforted me if I had not been seeing them against my will. I was not excited to be home –I was angry.

Clark finally spoke to me when we pulled up to a stop in front of the apartment complex.

"I'm going to work. You can go get settled."

I shoved open my door, slammed it shut and then opened the back one to the back seats to retrieve my suitcases. I slammed that door as hard as I possibly could once I had my things out and watched as he pealed out of the parking lot. I stood there a few minutes trying to calm myself down before I attempted to make other human contact.

I had the spare key in my purse so I was at 'home' in five minutes. I tossed both suitcases on my strange, untouched bed and looked around. The scent, the painting on the wall, my posters, my little TV, my comforter, my lamp, my alarm clock –it was all so familiar that it was _unfamiliar_, if that makes any sense. I felt like a stranger in my own room just because I didn't want to be there that badly.

I knew if I sat down and was idle I'd start crying and/or go see if Clark had any ice cream in the freezer. So I set to work at unpacking immediately, trying to keep my head on that task only. I unpacked the big one with all my clothes without event. But the case was not the same when I went to unpack the smaller one.

I drew the zipper around its rectangular patterned body and threw the top up. The first thing I saw was an inky black, armored bodice.

"What the…"

I pulled it out and found it was connected to the same armored material pants with dark, flat boots built in. The top section was strapless and thick with grooves of the same armor of Bruce's suit. There was a metal belt around the narrowed hips of the costume with Bruce's emblem on the center piece. I finally realized what it was –a replacement costume.

My old one had been taken from me when I was with Luthor. I hadn't even thought about it until that point. A grin spread along my face as I fingered the bat shape on the center of the belt. Clark would throw a bitch fit when he saw it, this made me smile wider. I then drew the long suit out and laid it on my bright pink comforter. I found a dark black blazer almost identical to my old one next. The lining of the jacket was insulated and warm. Leave it to Bruce to be on top of everything and to even remember winter was coming.

Under the jacket was a box. I tore off the lid with unhindered excitement to find a bunch of little gadgets. A pouch of little shells that were labeled 'smoke bombs', another pouch with chips marked 'trackers', and a few other little odds and ends things. Then there was a bigger mass towards the bottom of the box, it looked like a gun when I took it out. But I knew enough about guns that after about three seconds of studying it in the light I realized it wasn't- but there was a lever and there was a distinct barrel for something to come out of.

Curiosity killed the cat, I know. But the only thing that died from my curiosity that time was my wall. I aimed the contraption away from myself, turned my face just in case, and pulled the trigger.

I almost got knocked off my feet as the thing shot forward a grappling hook attached to a thick metal wire. I lurched back and it took everything in me to keep my balance. Thankfully it wasn't a loud object for stealth purposes, there had just been a sharp hiss and then the crunch of the plaster in my wall caving in as the device clawed its way through.

I couldn't help but laugh. I retracted the wire like a pro and twirled the little device on my index finger, quite satisfied with myself. The sadness and anger had all but faded away as I examined my new presents.

Some girls want diamonds from their guys –I on the other hand was absolutely giddy with my new smoke bombs and grappling hook.

There was one more thing in the box. It was about the size of a matchbox and had a little post-it note stuck to it. I pulled the thing out and peeled the sticky note off. Two buttons were revealed, a blue one and a yellow one.

The note was definitely Bruce's handwriting. Quick and small but neat for a man.

_I made you another pager, if you ever need me for anything. But this time if you need Batman, press the blue one. If you just want me- the yellow. _

I smiled a wavering, halfhearted smile and stroked the yellow button with my thumb.

That night, I fell asleep more or less content. But my bed was uncomfortable and hard, and the room was too dark, and the cities noises kept me awake. I knew it wasn't that I had grown tired of these things –my discomfort was simply because I knew I was not wanted. I was being kept here out of anger and fear and probably not really welcome.

I didn't feel safe either. Mentally, I was safest in the manor. Those big walls and Bruce had kept my paranoia and fear more or less at bay.

My first night back I had nightmares. And I remembered them.


	29. Chapter 29

"Oh good you're back, can you get me and Clark coffee?"

I took about two seconds for Lois to spot me my first day back at work, two weeks after I left the manor (to separate suspicion of Belladonna fighting with Superman again and the coincidence of me returning to Metropolis).

It took less than a second for her to give me an order. There was no, 'How have you been?', 'How was your vacation?', not even a freaking, 'Hey, glad you're back'. Even if she didn't mean any of that she could have at least attempted to be courteous and ask how I'd been. I'd worked with her for almost a year, so it wasn't like we were strangers. What an absolute _bitch_!

But living with Bruce for a few months still hadn't taken the edge off her intimidation factor. As much as I wanted to make a smart remark or slap her makeup caked face, I didn't. I obediently got up and nodded.

"Sure."

"Say –there's something different about you," Lois said, almost sounding cordial. But when I turned and looked at her face her smile was bemused, as if she was just loving whatever made me different, because in some way it had made me uglier, or weirder than I had been before. She was drinking what ever it was up.

It wasn't my hair she was noticing. To protect aliases again, I was wearing my cute purple knit hat over my head so it looked like I still had a lot of hair but it was just stuffed and tucked into the thing.

I don't even think it was anything physical. My body weight had returned to normal since starving myself when I was with Luthor, and I was wearing a white turtleneck and long pinstripe pants so she couldn't see any scars. The sleeves on the sweater were long enough to cover the two on my palms, too.

I don't know what she was seeing. Maybe it was the cobwebs of my tormented nightmares that she was seeing in my weird honey-colored eyes. Maybe she could see that I was a much different person than I was a few months ago just by the way my lips had tightened and my eyes had somewhat lost their childishness.

But I don't think she's smart enough. There's gossip, hair spray and hot air in her skull. Not much else.

I sighed and stopped to stare at her as she watched me curiously. I looked over her once and couldn't help the crinkle of my nose with my distaste. Her jacket was almost skin tight, grabbing her narrow waist and looking like if she laughed too hard the seams would split. The jacket was low and she was obviously not wearing a cami or anything under it, and the skirt was at least five inches above professional. I met her dolled up eyes again.

"There's nothing different about you," I said. I don't think that counts as standing up to her, because she took it as a compliment.

Our reunion was short. She left hastily and rudely as always and I trudged my way to the room with the coffee machine. It was so frustrating not being able to rub my relationship with Bruce in her face. Protecting Clark's identity more in that case. But even so, Bruce was still a touchy subject for me –the two weeks hadn't shaved off any of the separation depression- so maybe it was best that it didn't come up in conversation. Speaking of Bruce, the only contact I'd had with him was the phone when Clark wasn't around. And the sultry darkness of his voice wasn't as good through speakers, and I missed his eyes and his expressions and his hands and…._everything_.

The chief passed me in the hall. He was a stocky, unfriendly man with an intimidating mustache and squinty eyes that were dulled with years of scrutinizing small black print. But even _he_ said hello and stopped me to ask how my vacation had been, if I was happy to be back –which I lied effortlessly to-, and of course if I had any ideas for stories yet.

I think he was oblivious to how much I hated the world of journalism and reporting.

After talking with him for a bit I made my way to the coffee room. I grabbed two Styrofoam cups and waited behind one person already at the coffee vending machine thing. Once they were gone I stuck Clark's cup in the little window of the dispenser and pressed the button.

I don't understand coffee. It's gross. Give me a hot chocolate any day. I think coffee just tastes like burnt water.

Once Clark's was full I took it out and then filled up Lois's. I glanced at the two cups, watching the smoke curl and wrap sinuous lips of grey around the air. I contemplated spitting in Lois's cup. I _contemplated_, but fortunately wasn't mean enough to actually go through with it.

I poured salt into it instead.

Then to make it less suspicious, I poured some in Clark's. He and I were on speaking terms at the two week point, but I was still pissed. We were slightly making amends, so in my head I rationalized my reason for salting his cup was to make sure Lois didn't suspect I was doing it. Everyone at the Dailey Planet had been told we were cousins. So why in the world would I salt my own cousin's drink?

It was flawless.

I put the little plastic caps on and then brought them like an innocent little girl over to the two at their desks which were right next to each other. I gingerly placed Clark's next to him, feeling the slightest twang of guilt when he turned to me with china blue eyes, sparkling now that we were on 'better' terms, and said, "Thanks, Bella."

But then Bruce's face came back to me and the guilt snapped and disintegrated.

I moved to Lois's desk and put hers down more roughly. The stupid woman didn't even thank me; her eyes were fixated on her computer. I wanted to take her head and smash it into her keyboard. She ignored me for about three seconds and then finally spoke.

"Yeah," she said absentmindedly, not even looking at me, "Hey can you go tell Chief I'm sending him the edits?"

"Of course," I said with another horrible grimace of a smile.

But it was good to have an excuse to get away. I didn't want to be there when they both took their first sips. I didn't bother going to tell Chief. I didn't need to do Lois's job for her. I actually didn't even need to do my own job for the next two days, because my desk had been given to someone else while I was away. I had to wait to get it back and then I could start writing again. I sat in the back pretending to be scribbling down ideas for articles. I put in my headphones while I did this and turned up the volume on my iPod, because Lois's whiney, monotonous voice carried.

I laughed out loud when I hit shuffle and the first song came on. I had almost wished someone who shared my pain was there to have witnessed it. I mean a weird guy was coming out of the coffee room right next to me and gave me a strange look at my sudden giggle fit, but that didn't cut it.

While the song's intro flooded into my head I trained my eyes on Lois who was leaning over Clark, who had just shoved his coffee cup away. I couldn't read her lips but she had that demanding, dictator look on her face and in her stance. I watched her for a bit longer, unable to conceal my smirk as the song's chorus came on.

_Cold hard bitch, just a kiss on the lips…_

I listened to the song the whole way through and then played it again, just watching her as it pounded in my skull. It was better when she was walking somewhere, it was almost as if it were her personalized theme song. I was going to get a boombox and just walk around behind her for the rest of her life, playing that song.

My entertainment only lasted about an hour. She found me eventually and started making me do errands for her, as always.

And then at like two she had the audacity to walk in on me snacking on those little raspberry and blackberry candies (the chewy ones with the hard dots on the outside) in the vending room and scoff.

"You don't worry about how you eat, do you?" she laughed and slipped a dollar into one of the machines.

"No. Not really." My fingers curled on the edge of the counter I was leaned against.

She punched a few buttons while flicking her hair back.

"Guess you could use some curves," she said with a shrug, "You're body shape is pretty muscular."

_All the better to beat your boney ass_.

"I've got plenty, thanks," I said. My knuckles were turning white against the surface of the counter.

She turned and looked me over. I swear to god I heard her snort before she leaned down to retrieve her 'health conscious' wheat crackers. She turned back to me and flipped her hair again. I was scratching my temple with my middle finger, only because I knew she wasn't going to get it.

"Yeah well, see ya, Smallville's cousin."

Yup, she doesn't even call me by my name. She calls Clark Smallville and me his cousin. A charming woman, isn't she?

Once she was out of the room and out of ear shot, I chewed grumpily on my candies.

"Just because I don't let them all hang out like a whore doesn't mean I don't have them," I murmured to myself.

I promised myself I _was_ going to spit in her coffee next time.

God, I hate that woman.

I didn't think the end of the day would ever come. I was waiting for Clark impatiently, watching from my post near the elevators as he worked at a snails pace to get all his papers into his brief case. Clark Kent and Superman were two such different people. I mean Bruce –until I got to know him better- and Batman were essentially similar: unfriendly, cold and emotionless. But Clark Kent was like a big stupid dork, putting on an act and dropping his papers even though it was like physically impossible with his reflexes for him to drop something, and adjusting his glasses, tugging at his tie. It was almost comical to see him as an everyday average Joe when I was so used to fighting side by side _Superman _who stood tall and strong with a scarlet cape billowing around his square shoulders.

I saw him make his way over to Lois. I made a quiet barfing noise and then under my breath (because I knew he could hear it), "C'mon Romeo."

He shot me a look over her head and then came up beside her as she was putting her things away. He pulled her coat off her chair like a perfect gentleman and handed it to her. She didn't thank him. I don't even think she realized he was the one who had given it to her; he was just some coat rack that extended his metal peg to her.

"Hey Lois." I think his cheeks were red.

"What's up, Smallville."

He smiled and I saw his throat flex with a nervous swallow. What a freaking _dork_. It was so weird comparing his awkwardness to Bruce's smooth, collected fluidity.

"Well I got tickets to an art museum that's opening up next week, and Bella said she didn't want to go-

"Liar," hissed, not sure if he'd hear that one or not.

He didn't acknowledge me if he had and continued.

"So I was wondering, maybe you'd want to go? I mean I don't know if you like that kind of…"

"You know what, Smallville. I'm booked, Chief's got me covering every buzz in Metropolis. Maybe some other time."

She didn't look at him that entire time. She clipped her briefcase shut and then gave him a backwards wave, her high heels clicking as hurried towards me (the elevators).

"Oh, okay!" Clark called after her, "Some other time then."

I was even heartbroken for the guy. Even though he'd completely ruined my relationship and I should have been celebrating his failure with Lois, it was just impossible to gloat in that situation. The poor guy looked like he wanted to go crawl in a hole and die.

As she walked by me, I almost stuck my foot out to trip her. But that would have been a _touch_ over the line. I settled with pretending not to notice her and "bumping" into her. Translation: I rammed into her like a football player. She cried out but I pretended once again not to notice.

I didn't say sorry and made my way over to Clark.

He was slinging his briefcase over his shoulder, not meeting my eyes.

"Hey," I said with a half-smile.

"You're a girl," he started suddenly, meeting my eyes.

"Brilliant observation."

"You have any advice for me?"

I smirked and punched him playfully in the arm, "Yeah. Next time you take her out flying…_drop her_."


	30. Chapter 30

A ping of a machine woke me. The beeps were measured and low. There was the sound of something decompressing by my face. A second passed and my lungs inflated, deflated and inflated again, but I was not doing it myself. I thought I could feel some sort of tube in my throat but the sensation was so small I wasn't sure if it was real. I wasn't exactly sure if anything I was hearing was real either…was I real? I was entirely numb. The beeping grew slower and the decompressing sound fluttered away. Where am I?

I slipped back from wherever I had came...

_The rooftop was empty. And other than the cars below and the whine of the huge lit up billboard a hundred yards away, it was quiet. I was thankful for my new costume and the warmth it provided. Cold December air whipped at my hair and ruffled whatever was long enough to be ruffled. It hadn't grown out enough to cover my ears, and their tips were ice cold and burning after a few minutes of standing around. _

"_Maybe it was a false tip?" I said after a moment, shifting my weight to once side._

_Clark shook his head. A gust of wind made his crimson cape billow behind him. The corner of it licked my shoulder almost protectively before slipping away. He said nothing and tilted his head. He could hear a conversation ten miles away, I was sure. But could he hear Parasite slinking around in the shadows? _

_Before Clark could answer my unspoken questions, a methodic voice came from the darkness._

"_I planned a funny way to get rid of you both."_

_The lithe, purple form of Parasite stepped out from under the billboard, a glow surrounding every curve of him. His almost featureless face was turned toward the two of us, and he strolled breezily closer. _

"_It's ingenious really, I'm actually kinda sad no one else is here to witness it."_

_He stood facing us then, as if we were having a casual conversation about the weather. Clark was stiff and his hands were down in tight fists. He didn't like Parasite's cool, confident tone anymore than I did. It was eerie, and though we should have been confident because of the odds, there was something in Parasite's aura that told us both something bad was about to happen._

"_Rudy," Clark tried to reason._

_Parasite lunged for me. _

_I didn't even react. I didn't have to. Clark sidestepped easily in front of me and sent that punch I knew he'd been dying to throw right into his face. Parasite's purple body flew backwards at the force which made a large clapping sound on the empty rooftop. But he was up in seconds and coming back- there was something like a smile pulled on his impression of a mouth. _

_I stood back and watched while they went at it. I could have stepped in but there was no need. I observed guardedly, always alert, but didn't feel like I needed to do anything. I noticed after a few moments that Parasite was not trying to get to Clark. With Bruce's training still fresh and alive in my memory, I started tallying all the different times Clark had left himself open to Parasite's attack and how Parasite did nothing. He wasn't interested in Superman's powers. He wanted mine. _

_And he got them. He knocked Clark off guard once on a lucky shot and I was just close enough that his reaction time was too quick. He'd been expecting the window of opportunity, while I was too concerned with watching Clark. So he placed both hands on my shoulders and zapped my power out of me. _

_It's an uncomfortable feeling, painful even –but I wasn't concerned. If that was his big plan then he had something else coming –that was a lame plan. Sure, it got me without the ability to tell him what to do, but he still had Superman to deal with. It wasn't as if he'd accomplished anything._

_But I couldn't have been more wrong._

_Parasite's plan was much better than Clark and I would have ever suspected. _

_I watched from my position on the ground, trying to gather up the strength again to sit up, as the two started fighting again. It didn't take long for Parasite's hand to wind around Clark's neck. I pulled myself to my feet as he did this, trying to get my bearings. _

_I heard him speak. _

"_Kill her slowly, and then kill yourself."_

_The world seemed to slow until it completely stopped around the three of us. Parasite released Clark. I stood a bit away, feeling my heart beat start pounding like a thoroughbred. Clark stood there, motionless, as my powers worked their way to his brain. Parasite laughed and laughed until I thought the very sound would shatter all the windows in the building under us. _

_I did a quick evaluation as Clark's head snapped in my direction. _

_He was about 6'4, with super human strength, super human speed, the ability to fly and laser vision. _

_I was going to die. _

_Without a second of hesitation or a hint of anger, I pressed the blue button on the pager clipped to my belt. I pressed it frantically about five more times when Clark started moving toward me, his steps strong and sure and cape now fluttering menacingly at his back. _

"_C'mon, Clark," I tried reasoning in a whisper, "You can fight it. Snap out of it."_

_I started backing away; making a curve with my steps I circled him. His face was a brick wall, no emotion, no expression –nothing but the drive to kill me. Slowly –what a lovely touch Parasite added there. Too bad I wouldn't live long enough to thank him. _

_Clark and I wound circles over the top of the building. He stayed a good ways away from me, and I could tell that his fighting instincts were taking over. He measured the distance between us, deduced how much of a fight I would put up, calculated my chances, and devised the best way to beat me to a bloody pulp. And all the while I was just jamming my thumb against that blue button, saying my prayers and avoiding him like a game of cat and mouse. _

_The rooftop's beige concrete scuffed under my shoes as I made my rounds again, hoping that Clark and I could just circle like this forever and he'd never make the first move. I was sweating even in the chill of the night and the back of my jacket clung to the bare parts of my shoulders. My costume suddenly felt too tight and my breaths became shallower and shallower._

_Clark's lifeless eyes were trained on me the entire time. I couldn't help but look at the bulging muscles in the blue fabric of his costume, and his large hands that could crack my skull like an egg shell. I was scared out of my mind, I won't lie. I was staring straight at my fate and about ready to beg for mercy. _

_I didn't get the chance._

"_C'mon, hit her already!"_

_Mistake number one. I turned to Parasites voice. He was standing off to the side like an eager fan on the bleachers. I don't know why I turned to look at him, but it was one of the dumbest things I've ever done. Because once I realized my mistake and whipped my head back to Clark, he was a foot away from me. His fist rose before I could blink and came at me like a train. _

_My collarbone shattered with the impact. I flew backwards like a ragdoll and then skidded across the rooftop for a few feet before hitting one of the columns of the billboard's post. The sound reverberated like a clap of thunder across the rooftop and it was followed by Parasite's deep, booming laughter._

"_YES! Yes!"_

_My breath came in ragged heaves then as I tried to push myself up. The pain was so bad it got an incredulous gasp out of me and I flopped back to the ground. _

_Clark's footsteps crunched as he made his way closer, ready to attack again. Determined I pushed myself up with my good arm, tucking my other one into my side to not irritate the break, and tried to crawl away from the pole. As I crawled I struggled to get my footing under me. The thick, and unfortunately in this situation useless, armor on my shins and knees scraped against the concrete. _

_This was mistake number two. I left myself completely vulnerable from all angles. _

_A red boot came at my side with the power of a ship anchor. I hard the sickening crunching sounds of my ribs before I went airborne for a few seconds. I crashed back to the ground so hard I thought my skeleton was going to bounce right out of me with the force. The pain was excruciating as I gasped for air that wouldn't come and rolled onto my stomach. _

_I placed my palms under me in an effort to try and push myself from the ground. The pain was so severe I saw white. But I knew I couldn't just lie on the ground and wait to be hit again. Clark was advancing steadily towards me. _

_I tried again to push myself up by pressing my palms into the ground. I gave a yelp with the movement and dug my fingers against the concrete to concentrate the pain somewhere else. The tips of my fingers raked across the hard surface and tore while my nails cracked and shredded._

_A wet cough wracked my frame as I lay there, and once I started I couldn't stop. I coughed and coughed in agony, drawing one horrible breath for every six or so deep coughs. Flecks of liquid spattered over my outstretched arm. Once I managed to stop coughing I looked down. My skin and the concrete below me were dappled with red. _

"_Shit," I rasped. The movement of my tongue let the metallic taste of blood smooth over my taste buds._

_Clark still hadn't gotten to me yet. With another chest ripping cough that spattered blood below me I started pulling myself up again. I really have no idea how I got on my feet, with a shattered clavicle and a crushed right side. I was coughing up blood for Christ's sake and I still was attempting to stand up. I figured it was the safest place to be; maybe I could still somewhat dodge an attack. _

_Nonetheless, somehow or another I was standing again. Woozy, but still vertical. I drew a shaky, clammy hand over my mouth to collect the blood. My breaths were shallow then and they wheezed like creaking branches inside my chest. I sounded like an old woman without her walker. _

"_Superman, snap out of it," I croaked as his shape came closer. _

"_Superman, oh Superman!" Parasite mocked me with fake wails from his position on the sidelines. _

_My reasoning didn't penetrate the solid wall my powers had around Clark's brain. I could do nothing stand there and take it when he hit me with the third blow. I don't remember even what he hit that time. I just remember bouncing along the rooftop and then rolling to a stop on all fours. Then before I could try reason or pull myself up again I took another hit, this time to the bottom of my chin. I was surprised it didn't break my jaw or pop my head off. It just sent me in a backwards somersault across the rooftop where my face skidded across the hard ground and something in my neck crunched. _

_I came to a stop on my back, staring up at the black sky and listening to my rattling breaths. My shoulder was on fire, it felt like there were about six knives stuck in my side and my lungs were tired. I squeezed my eyes against the immobilizing pain. A grunt of frustration flexed in my mouth._

_It was at that point I lost hope of Bruce coming. _

_Clark was still a bit away. He knew even in his somewhat hypnotized state that speed was not the principle here. He wasn't supposed to be quick. I had at least twenty seconds before he got to me. In that time I worked at shrugging my jacket off my good shoulder since its tight top was irritating the broken one. I squirmed in agony to try and get the thing off. It was a panicked, frenzy attempt but somehow I managed to get it off me. Cold air hit the inflamed skin where the break was in my shoulder. A little better –at least then there was nothing pushing on it. _

_Mistake number three. Seconds after my bare, heaving chest was welcomed with the frigid air, a familiar whine of a sound split the air. My reaction time was impressive. I knew what it was within half a second and scrambled to flip myself over and put my moveable arm up in front of my face to protect it. I did this not a moment too soon. Searing pain scorched over the exposed strip of my back where the strapless costume didn't reach. I screeched despite the pain in my chest and flung both arms out to try and pull myself away from Clark's laser vision. The line of torture burned a line all the way to the nape of my neck before it ceased. _

_After it was through I lay there convulsing as if I was trying to shake the imaginary flames off my shoulder blades. I heard pitiful, tearless sobs spill from my mouth but I wasn't aware I was making them. _

_I couldn't feel them either; I couldn't feel anything for a few seconds. _

_While I lay there I tried to clear the pain from my foggy head and come up with a plan. All I had in my belt were smoke bombs and tiny explosives that wouldn't even scathe the marble-like flesh of the creature that came and stood over me. (He was no longer Clark, I decided. He wasn't Superman either. He was some vicious puppet that thirsted for my agony.) _

_But I had to do something. I couldn't just keep taking hits and not even try to defend myself. Once the burn on my back numbed enough where I could move again, I fumbled with my bloodied fingers into a belt compartment. _

_Then, quickly like ripping off a band aid, I spun myself over and hurled the first set of explosives at the large emblem on his chest. While the explosions created a distraction I tried crawling away on my good arm a few feet from him, where then I could use the ledge of the roof to pull myself up._

_Clark came forward again. The explosives could have been a puff of dust that he could sneeze at. I had been stupid to have even tried. But I was determined to go down fighting; in my hand I had about six little ones more. I hurled them at his chest again once my vision focused. _

_The smoke filled my vision for a few moments. Tears of irritation filled in my blurring eyes. Once the explosions quieted down everything but my wild, ragged breath was silent. Had I got him?_

_Suddenly a fist came through the smoke and wrapped around my throat. I gagged. I brought my gaze to his. The familiar blue color was there, but that was the only part of Clark I recognized. _

_He could have snapped my neck right there and be done with it. But his instructions were branded clearly in his head. _

_He released me and I barely had time to gasp before he freaking back handed me about thirty feet into one of the huge box-like ventilation systems on top the building. My body slammed into the metal sideways and a monstrous clang hung in the air. _

_I ended in the sitting position. I teetered forward and stuck my good arm out to catch myself from eating concrete. Blood so dark that it looked black started to spill from the side of my mouth. It dripped in long, tenuous strands with the consistency of syrup to the concrete and created a shimmering puddle under me. I was unsure of the source of the blood, but my mouth was filling with it. I stretched my mouth into a grimace and felt the blood snake between the grooves of my teeth and dribble out the corners of my lips. _

_Every sound seemed to fade as I sat there stunned. Every sound except than the next boulder-smashing crash that I received in the head that sent me careening across the rooftop. _

_I flipped over and landed on the concrete on my crushed side. But I was too dazed to scream. That hit I'd just gotten had fractured my skull. The concrete sliced my forehead when I fell. Hot wetness poured down the side of my face and the bridge of my nose, adding to the scarlet mess. _

_I didn't want to get up that time. I lay there looking over to the outcrop of the roof and the buildings and signs across from me. The cars went on busily down below. No one knew what was happening –Metropolis's greatest superhero and his bum sidekick would be found dead tomorrow morning and no one would have a clue why. _

_The concept of death came at me like a bullet. It was such a strange thought. It was even stranger that I accepted it. But as I lay there, sounding like I had a rock dancing around in my lungs, spewing blood like a lawn sprinkler and fading in and out of reality –I knew it was coming. I had thought I was hurt before, when the gang left me out in the street barely breathing, when the dogs at Luthor's place took a few chunks out of me. But both of those times combined were nothing to the shape I was in then. I'd just taken a beat down from Superman. There was no way fate was going to let me off easy like it had those other times –this time I was just going to have to give in. _

_The sounds of Parasite's laughter were so faint I was straining to hear them. I felt a wind blow over me and ruffle my blood matted hair, but I didn't hear it. I shifted my eyes weakly to Clark's boots that stood beside me. They were still. He must have been inspecting my body. There was a soft murmur of words from behind me, which I figured was Parasite screaming at Clark to do something. Then the murmur faded completely. _

_It was then, in a blissful almost peaceful state, I remembered the second part of Parasite's orders. _

…_then, kill yourself. _

_Instinctively I moved. I was not going to play dead unless I actually was. It wasn't just my life that was at risk here. If I gave up that meant Clark was going to die. I couldn't let that happen._

_It took a colossal effort, but I managed to stretch out my arm and brush gingerly at the side of his boot. A message that I wasn't dead yet and he was going to have to keep trying. _

_I should have seen what was coming. He raised his foot. And before I could recoil my arm he slammed his heel down onto my forearm. I only felt the horrible cry that split from my throat when the bone snapped. The sound escaped me. Unfortunately the pain didn't. Tortured moans of pain beat like sharp wings inside my aching chest._

Keep fighting Bella, just get up. Get up, get up…get up.

_As I lay there trying to muster the will to pull myself up again, something suddenly moved out of the corner of my eye. I swiveled my gaze to the movement. The scenery spun and blended together like an artist's pallet. But one thing suddenly stood out. I focused. _

_A black form moved from the edge of the rooftop with strong, powerful steps. Something exploded above my head and the sound rushed back to me. The beeping cars below, the wind, the soft dripping of my blood hitting the ground. My vision cleared just enough to see a fleeting image of a black, swirling cape. Then it disappeared along with Clark's boots. _

"_Bruce," I tried saying. My words slurred and I couldn't even understand myself. _

"_No fair! This is a two person game!" I heard Parasite screech. More explosions, a scuffle of feet, a thump of a body hitting the ground that shook the entire building. _

_I wanted to see what was going on, but wasn't ready just yet to flip myself over. Thankfully I didn't have to, Clark's red and blue form shot like a smear of paint over my body before he crash landed into on of the billboard's poles. It cracked with the force of his body and a loud metal groan came from the structure. _

_What the hell did Bruce have in his belt? I couldn't think of anything that would shoot Superman across a rooftop. _

_The light vanished as a shadow combed over me. _

"_Help me up," I croaked, blood gurgling in my throat, "He can't think I'm dead."_

_Bruce did so without hesitation and without any questions asked. And on a lucky guest he grabbed me around my hips –the one place that hadn't been crushed yet. I was lifted off the ground easily and then I hung onto him like some desperate, starved animal. _

"_Can you stand?" Bruce's deep, guttural disguise voice was warm against my ear. _

_But before I even had time to answer there was a characteristic woosh of air. Bruce's hands left my waist instantly and he shoved me back. I crashed hard onto the rooftop only to see Clark's streak of blue and red go flying into Bruce's dark figure. There was a loud crunching sound. Then I blinked and Clark was hovering over the rooftop. He had Bruce by the end of his cape and Bruce hung limp like a puppet. Something dark was dripping down onto the concrete. _

_Then Clark pitched Bruce some fifty feet into the billboard, where a few letters popped and crackled as his body shattered them. The sign smoked and buzzed with fine wires of electricity, and Bruce hit the platform below with a horrible bang. _

_Clark had no instructions concerning Bruce. He could take him out as quickly as he needed to get rid of the road block in his actual mission. _

_My reignited hope died instantly. Now three of us were going to die. _

_Parasite's laughter returned to the air again, I saw him sitting on top of the little building that housed the stairs to get to the rooftop. His body was thrown back as the laughter took hold of him, wracking his purple frame. _

_I then let my eyes move over to the billboard. I willed Bruce to get up. He had explosives that could stall Clark, he was the only one who actual had a fighting chance. But I was close enough to the billboard to see its platform oozing red from underneath his black clad body. _

_Hot tears were pouring from my eyes before I knew it, mixing with the still wet blood that was coming from the wound in my head. I shoved myself up from the ground with a few short cries of pain and then attempted to get to Bruce. Maybe I could find what was ever in his belt and save both our asses. _

_But my gait was unsteady and weak. My legs felt like jello and the ground was rocking back and forth in my vision. I stumbled, watching my blood spatter in almost floral designs under me as I walked. I didn't even know I had that much blood in me- it just kept coming and coming. _

_I didn't get very far before Clark got to me again._

_BAM!_

_I went zigzagging across the rooftop again on my back, tearing the burned flesh on my shoulders as I slid. I flipped three or for times and landed awkwardly on my right leg which bent the wrong way under me. Inside my head I screamed, but my mouth wouldn't work for it to be translated outside. I was silent and dazed, staring off into nothing. I lay there on my side, broken, bloody and destroyed. _

_My body started to shut down. _

_The world went black. Seconds, minutes –I wasn't sure. Then I felt hands on my face. I lazily opened my eyes, one eyelid sticky with blood, and searched for his face. The black cowl focused, and then his eyes did. I heard his jagged, wheezing breaths. His warm air smoothed over my cold face. My eyes unfocused and slid to the left –I could just barely see his dark cape whipping behind him. _

_My eyes became too tired to look at him. I closed them with a sleepy, deluded smile. Seconds passed. There was a horrible crack and his gloved hands left my sticky face. I wanted to know what happened, but every movement felt like it took minutes to happen. _

_Finally my vision came back to me. Bruce was lying halfway on the outcrop of the roof, his cape fluttering pitifully over into empty space. He was sprawled on his back and his face was turned away. Blood pooled under him, but I couldn't see a wound. _

_I tried calling him. In my head I said his name louder than I'd ever said anything before. But my mouth was limp. It was open just enough to let my rattling breath escape meekly into the night. _

_Something grabbed me by my unbroken arm and heaved me up from the ground. My head lolled to my chest but my eyes remained open as the edge of the roof got closer and closer. I was out over the ledge in seconds, dangling over the busy, sparkling street beneath me. _

_The world below had finally taken notice. Cars had stopped in the middle of the street; and people climbed out of them, peering up at the building. Some stood on the top of their vehicles to get a better look. _

_Clark spared me from looking any further. He rotated me in his stone grip and then slid that grip to my hand. _

"_Clark," I whispered._

_My eyes moved to Bruce's crumpled form only a few feet away from us. He let out a gargled cough. He was stirring, but not fast enough. I looked back to Clark. _

_I'd never see either of them again. I was going to fall fifty feet and then I'd never see anything again. A shaky breath combed through my damaged lungs. _

_I had one last shot. If Parasite's power over me had worn off in the time we'd been fighting, that meant I would have my power back. It was a stretch. But I had nothing to loose. I swallowed hard, almost retching at the pungent taste of blood that swam down my raw throat. My lips, shining with blood, opened. A wheeze fluttered out. Then finally I found the strength to choke out a sentence. _

"_Snap out of it."_

_His hand released mine._

"_**BELLA!**__" _

_Bruce's agonized scream followed me as I plummeted to the street below. _


	31. Chapter 31

_**CIVILAIN**_

I caught a taxi at about six o'clock headed for my girlfriend's house. She was upset with me for not coming to see her in a week and if I was going to patch things up I was supposed to make this evening the most romantic and apologetic ever. And with my luck, it was no surprise that once we got to the heart of the city we came to a standstill of traffic. I groaned aloud before evaluating the scene. After a moment I leaned forward near the driver and peered out the front windshield. There were people everywhere. Getting out of their cars, pointing up towards the sky, and once the cabbie turned off the car I could hear the roar of public excitement. "What in the hell is going on?"

The driver and I got out of the taxi cautiously. I rested my forearms on the roof of the car and tried to figure out what had everyone so excited. My eyes went above to the stars, wondering if a meteor was finally going to plow down Metropolis, or a UFO had crashed into the hotel. My search came up fruitless. That was until a terrifying groan of metal echoed down the crowded street. Women screamed, men's voices rose in panic and I saw fingers finally pointed in the direction of the source. Way up on the rooftop of the old warehouse I saw a billboard suddenly buckle. Under its trembling, groaning support was a distinctive red and blue costumed man. Superman?

A flash of a camera exploded towards my right. Curiously I made my way over, looking back towards the rooftop every few seconds to see Superman pull himself up to his feet and lift off from the ground, making a bullet-like projection for a darker figure in the center of the roof. "Hey, buddy, what's happening? That Superman up there?" I asked the man snapping pictures. I thought it a bit odd before taking a look past him and seeing a news van parked close and a reporter flailing wildly towards the scene in front of a video camera. The man snapping cheap photos looked towards me with wild eyes full of fear. Something was not right. This was not your everyday Superman beating a baddie into a smear on the pavement incident. "Hell if I know, man. They've been going at it for at least a half an hour," the guy said worriedly.

Another bust of screams was siphoned from the crowd. The man and I both looked up to see Superman rising into the air with a body dangling from a cape in his fist. The light from the hovering news helicopter illuminated the scene just in time to show a hefty amount of blood rain down onto the roof from Superman's victim. I heard the reporter from the van screaming in the background, _"Is that Batman?! Can we confirm a visual on the Batman?"_ I folded my arms over my chest protectively. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight up. "Who's they? Supes and Batman?" I asked, trying to ease the panic out of my tone. I couldn't put my finger on it but something wasn't sitting right with me. The man snapped another photo and shook his head. "Nah, Superman and his sidekick –she took a pretty good beating. God only knows if she's still alive up there." My fear hit the bottom of my stomach. It didn't seem like Superman's style to kill anything, much less a young girl who he'd been working with for years.

My eyes snapped back up to the scene as a sickening crack wafted through the chaos on the street below. The Batman had been pitched sideways into the already crumpling billboard and nearly snapped it in half it seemed with the force of his body. The dark figure peeled off the billboard's side and hit the metal rafting under it. Then there was nothing. The helicopter had to circle around and the roof became bathed in blackness. Another crack that sounded like thunder echoed on the rooftop and the helicopter zoomed right in time to see a ragdoll of a figure go sprawling across the roof. Superman stood and watched. Neither the two figures, presumably Batman and Belladonna, got up after that. The roar of the masses below only increased. Some were screaming at Superman, others were supporting him; others climbed on top of their cars to get a better view and waved their hands in desperation.

After what seemed like years Batman's dark clad figure rose ungracefully from the rafting. Superman went at him but there was a split second before something orange exploded. The night sky light up and there was a collective gasp from the crowd. Superman flew backward into the taller, adjacent building and left an imprint of his body in the brick. A few people cheered, watching as Batman raced with a pronounced limp towards the still figure of Belladonna in the middle of the roof. He crouched down and was nearly gone from view. "WATCH OUT BATMAN!" a woman from behind me screamed. I had to look away as Superman's body hit Batman from the side. The Dark Knight hit the edge of the rooftop on his back and then lay motionless. In the city breeze his dark cape flowed dejectedly down the edge of the building.

A few moments passed. The helicopter hovered expectantly and we all watched as Superman leaned down and picked up Belladonna by the arm. It was a terrifying sight. His costume was spattered with blood. Hers was ripped to near shreds. Superman came to the rooftop and hung her over the edge. "No," I heard the man next to me whisper. A sob came from behind me, a bloodcurdling scream from two cars over. I held my breath. He dropped her. More screams followed as her figure dropped from the forty floor building. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Her figure just floated, gravity took hold and her broken body was finally at ease. I looked away as any human would, not prepared to see her ending. Instead I looked back towards the rooftop hatefully for Superman's reaction. A brutish killer he was, with blood painting his symbolic costume. He was supposed to be a protector, a good guy. When I looked towards the roof, I found nothing. Batman was stretched over the edge with his arm still extended but his head bowed. But where was Superman?

It all happened so quickly my eyes couldn't even follow it. There was an well of a gasp from the crowd and even the excited reporter a few feet away from me stopped speaking. "Where'd he go?!" I found myself yelling. The man next to me, dumbfounded, merely touched at my arm and pointed with his hand that had dropped his camera. I heard the crash before I saw it. Superman had dove from the roof so hard that the car he stopped his momentum with nearly folded in on itself. His red and blue figure was hunched over in between the chaos of metal that he had his back to. His head was bowed over. The entire street went quiet. The screams stopped. Silence blanketed everything. The citizens surrounding the site of impact were frozen to the spot. I looked back to Superman. Finally, he lifted his head. And nestled in his arms was his partner. She was broken, but not gone. He had saved her. A breeze blew back her hair from her bloodied, swollen face. Her eyes were closed, head turned in against his shoulder.

Then, I heard a sound. It was quiet at first and I might not have addressed it had it not been for the quaking of Superman's broad shoulders. The sound grew louder and I finally registered what it was. He was crying. I was close enough where I could see his face glittering with tears. He hunched over the girl in his arms once again and completely encompassed her form. His tears were silent now but his entire figure trembled. I looked away, towards the rooftop. The Batman was gone. The billboard's lights crackled and popped forlornly. I then surveyed the crowd. The man beside me murmured a prayer, from the corner of my eye a woman turned away and buried her face in her husband's chest, the reporter stared with his eyes wide open and microphone at his side, the camera man lowered his camera. I ran a hand over my mouth and looked back over at Superman and Belladonna. Blood was pooling under him. The asphalt gleamed with her darkness.

He murmured something. I was too far away to hear but he raised his head and repeated it. I read his lips. _Please._ Again, louder this time. "Please! Somebody!" His deep register cracked with hysteria. "Please! Somebody help!" He lifted his head and roared, his face a glittering sheen of wetness. "_HELP! DAMN IT SOMEONE HELP HER!_" No sooner had the words left his lips than a few EMS men already on the scene broke their way through the crowd. A stretcher was wheeled through the break in bodies as the crowd separated to let them through. Superman's quiet sobs filled the silent streets with sound. His jagged breaths were ear shattering. No words were exchanged as the men with the stretcher approached him –collecting himself, Superman raised shakily to his feet. I'd never seen a man more broken in his life as he moved towards the stretcher and stared down at the pale woman in his arms. After a moment he finally laid her down. He slid his hands from under her as gently as he could and then put a hand over her head, his thumb resting on her cheek. She didn't move.

He let his hand fall from the stretcher and I saw red painting his palm. Then, she was wheeled away. I watched her until the crowd reformed around the hole and I could no longer see her black boots on the stark white sheets of the stretcher. Superman dropped to his knees and held his face in his hands. No one dared approach him. We let him drown in his misery. I backed away from the scene. I turned until I found a little corner store a block down where the owner and his staff were watching on the street. Fishing my cell phone out of my pocket, I squeezed myself into the shop and pressed my back against an isle. I hit Theresa's number and then pressed the speakers to my ear, massaging my forehead with my free hand. After three long rings, she picked up. "Hello? Jesus, Mark is that you? Are you okay? Have you seen the news?!" Her voice sent a wave of relief throughout my body. I and closed my eyes.

"Theresa, baby. I love you so much."


	32. Chapter 32

BELLA

I drifted. There was no time, no darkness, and no light. There was nothing. Sometimes I would hear voices but was never sure of the source. I would feel real one moment and then vanish into myself the next. Constantly there was a beeping in the background, something decompressing on my face, stiffness, the smell of alcohol and bandages. And when I wasn't there, I was floating in dreams. I couldn't place them. Was I simply fantasizing? Or were these memories?

I remembered an office party. White hot flashes of pictures that I couldn't remember. Lois Lane in a skanky santa outfit. I saw a window scene, felt a glass of champagne in my hand. I felt dark loneliness as snow fell and blanketed Metropolis. Then that faded. The scenes became sharper and more vivid.

"_Look outside."_

_I was hovering at the window of the apartment building. Clark was at work and I got a call on my cell phone –the number didn't register in my phone but the voice that greeted me before I even had a chance to say hello was unmistakable. I nearly fell off the couch in my hurry to get to the window. _

"_Bruce?" I asked breathlessly. My body was tingling. _

_I came to the window, and there he was. Standing on the sidewalk outside the building with a pricey limousine behind him waiting for his return. I remember an overwhelming feeling of excitement. I hadn't seen him since I'd been forced back to the city with Clark. But there he stood, in a dark suit that set him apart from the white snowy background, looking utterly perfect and regal. It was almost as if I was seeing him for the very first time all over again. _

_The pictures cut and suddenly I'm running down the stairs in my slippers. Blackness folds over parts of the vision and then I'm bursting out of the doors of the building. I drop my cell phone and run at him full force, uncaring how childish he might think my exuberance. I leap in a perfectly executed jump which he's probably to thank for my perfecting, and wrap my legs around his waist. He catches me effortlessly and I feel his strong arms encircle my back. There might have even been a rumble of a chuckle in his chest. Blackness again. _

_I'm suddenly inside the manor. I remember anxiety –Clark wasn't aware I was with Bruce. But I come forward anyway. Bruce takes my hand and leads me inside the vast living room. A ten foot tree glistens before us. Alfred has done wonders with the holiday decorations, I tell him teasingly. The holiday radio is strong inside my head, as if the band is playing right beside me. _

_Darkness ebbs over my memories again. Flashes of events I cannot place illuminate my subconscious. Bruce's lips on mine. Fading. Alfred's warm hug. Blackness. A box with a silver ribbon. Inside my fingers there is suddenly a black mask. Merry Christmas._

"_You're not a kid anymore." Bruce's deep voice echoes in the corners of my head. "I think it's time you got one of these. You have people to protect." _

My memories cut and dissolve. I return to the place where there is nothing all around me. Unconscious but aware, I don't feel anything in my throat anymore. My lungs compress and expand on their own. I cant feel the rest of my body. There is darkness on my skin though. I can sense it. I think I can smell the night in the room, it mixes with the alcohol and makes for an unsettling concoction.

"You have to hold it together." Bruce's voice is closer, sharper. I hear the guttural purr of his voice as he protects his alias.

"Don't act like you know what I went through out there." Clark's voice is right near my head. It is broken, tortured and full of fury.

"I'm not. All I'm saying is, you can't disappear like you're so fond of doing when you think you can't handle something. She needs you."

There is a long silence. I hear beeping and an exhale beside me. Clark's voice croaks.

"What…what if- what if I've _killed_ her?" A tearless sob of exhaustion wafts.

"She'll pull through, Clark."

The voices fade and I drift away once more. My head spins with pictures. _I see dirty streets. I feel something crackling under my fist. A rib connecting with my boot. I feel the new mask fitting over my cheeks and rubbing against the sweat along my forehead. A purple blur decks Clark and sends him flying. But we are in control here –Clark regains his footing and pitches Parasite into the brick wall. This is my first time dealing with the purple menace, although I'm not doing much of a good job. Electricity pops and crackles to my right and in blurry flashes I see myself battling a woman. Her hair is blonde and sticks up in dangerous spikes, her costume is bright, sparks and lightening flies from her fingers. _

_I see Christmas morning. It is bright and I peel back my eyes in the lonely comfort of my own bed. I am jumping at the foot of Clark's bed like a five year old, waking him up out of a dead sleep so suddenly he almost socks me in the face. Darkness falls and drips over my memories until they are opaque. In a few moments they return. I am pushing my present towards Clark. What it is I can't remember. Grey filters obscure the memories again and suddenly I'm hugging Clark. _

"_No hard feelings, okay big guy?" I can almost feel the stitches of our relationship being repaired. And on what better day than Christmas. _

"_You've been through so much, Bells. I'm proud of you, I just want you to know that."_

_Black once again. I fade in and out. I see laughter, snow fall, Christmas lights decorating the street lamps. I hear voices I don't recognize. Places I don't remember ever being. Words of my own I can't remember saying. Tears I don't remember crying. I hear an answering machine and feel a pit in the bottom of my stomach._

"_Hey Bruce, it's Bella…again. I guess you're still away. Call me when you get this."_

"_Bruce, it's me again. Please call me." _

_My memories harden and hurt. I remember patches of my resolve. I moved on. I see faces of men in fancy restaurants, kisses on my fingers, a longing glance at a dating advertisement and laughing bitterly at it. Unhappiness. Work all consuming. I'm in the streets every night fighting. I see my body in the mirror, bruised and beaten –tired. In another flash I see myself crouching down to the street. _

_I hear coughing in the background. The street is wet and cold. Caleb's necklace is strewn around a candle in the middle of the alleyway. Another memorial sits adjacent to it. I close my first against my heart. My new hair is concealed in a knit hat that I don't remember buying. The scene shifts and I am surrounded by familiar faces. Gaunt, skinny faces of the people I used to love and care for. Ruby is nowhere to be seen. Someone sends a slap across my face._

"_We don't want your money, or your sympathy."_

_I'm up against a wall. Jack pins me by the throat. _

"_I can't believe you'd drag your sorry ass back here after everything you caused. Just get the hell out, Bella."_

_He shoves off me and spits at my feet. I walk aimlessly. Darkness slides over again and I am lost in my memories. Pictures race by me so quickly I cant put rhyme or reason to them. Days flicker in a dizzying cadence, faces, words, everything blends until my brain shuts down. I remember the rooftop. Dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. I remember screams in the quiet, beeping room. Pain so harsh that it was incomprehensible. Fresh blood warm on every exposed part of my flesh. Two cool plates of metal pushed against my chest. _

"_CLEAR!"_

"_Still no pulse! Go again!"_

_I remember quietness. That comforting nothing where my dreams were gone and the beeping room was nonexistent. I just floated listlessly into a little rip in time. Here I could think clearly and assess what my memories had spilled out. But suddenly I was floating up. I felt something around my arm, yanking me from my suspended state of nothing. Now I felt water, an ocean of it surrounding me. I struggled harder than I had ever before. My legs thrust in the waves, my arms clawed at the patterns of the current. A lifetime worth of sunrises and sunsets flashed excitedly, urging me on. Finally, my head broke the surface. _

A gasp broke from my throat. From hell and back, alive to fight another day –I opened my eyes.


	33. Chapter 33

_Author's Note:_

_Hi guys! _

_Gosh, it's been forever. I apologize times a million. Life caught up with me D:_

_But not to worry! I have loads of brimming muse for this story and I will not let that happen again! I see there are still some readers out there and thank you so much for your lovely reviews, they really really make my day and encourage me to keep writing!  
_

_And and and I love all of you who have either read this in the past/reading it now/have been fans since the beginning. Seriously you all make my life and this would not be possible without you._

_SO YEZ. I'll spare you the teary speech and just say I'm sorry flat out and LET THE STORY CONTINUE_

_(Oh btw, I'm adding something new. I find that each chapter I write is always accompanied by music. I'm always listening to something when I write. So I thought why the heck not share it with you guys?! Maybe you'll find some new music you like, some old music you haven't listened to in a while, and maybe it will enhance the chapter for you if you listen while reading! idk! Just something fun to do!_

_Chapter 33's muse is Half Life -Imogen Heap_

_You can listen here:  
_

_the tube of you (dot) com /watch?v=N7O69oEOmuk&feature=related_

_Thanks again guys! _

* * *

The room was bright when I opened my eyes. Squinting against the blurriness I made out a glaringly white ceiling, the fluorescent light above swam in my vision. Blindly I reached out to my side. My fingers found a cup on the edge of the bedside and under my clumsy hand it wobbled and finally crashed to the floor. Water sloshed out onto the tile. From the foot of the starchy hospital bed I heard someone move.

"Bella?"

God, was that even my name? I was so disorganized that for a moment I didn't know where I was, who I was, and why the hell I felt like I'd just been run over by the Earth itself. Multiple times. I swallowed hard and blinked a few times, retracting my good arm to my side as a chair screeched from the foot of my bed. In a second Clark's face was hovering over me. Everything flooded back. The fight, the memories, the entire scene spilled into my head. I felt my lips part open in awe and I raised my eyes to Clark. He looked awful. He was still in costume and it obviously hadn't been washed, the blood spatter all over his chest and legs looked like he'd walked through the set of a slasher flick. His eyes were dark and exhausted, skin white as the sterile ceiling above him. If he looked this bad I could only imagine how fucked up I looked lying like a corpse in my hospital bed.

"Bella," Clark finally spoke, dropping to his knees by my side and folding my beaten hands inside his much larger ones. I'd always marveled at how much he dwarfed me. I watched in a pain-medication-induced trance as his palms encompassed my little ones without even irritating the IV stuck in the top of my left hand. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead gently. I could feel his lips trembling. Then he just held my hands and bowed his head. I cant tell you how long we stayed like that, but it was a while before I found my voice. Ancient and dusty, like some mummy slowly rising from his tomb, I croaked my first words in a long while.

"It wasn't your fault, Clark." My words cracked and trembled. My entire mouth felt like a cotton ball.

He looked up, eyes red and making the stark blue explode against the paleness of his face. I swallowed what little saliva I had to ease the burning of my throat and closed my eyes a bit, already exhausted from the short exchange.

"How much do you remember?" he asked softly. For the first time in our entire relationship he knew not to press me with six billion questions at once. I couldn't have been more thankful.

"I remember the entire fight," I whispered. I felt him squeeze my hand and I opened my eyes to keep him from worrying that I'd slip away again. When I looked towards his face it was crumpled in despair. I know he'd probably wished my head injuries would have spared me the grisly ordeal. But he stayed strong and merely swallowed while I found the will to speak again.

"And not much else before then." I winced when I attempted to shift myself along the mattress. "How long have I been out?"

Clark's face hardened even further. I could see torture under his skin. The fact that I was lying there in the bed at his hand sickened him to rock bottom. I'd known him long enough to see what that was. That hurt more than his fist in my gut had. We both knew none of what happened was his fault, but that would never stop him from hating himself for it.

"Three weeks." His voice was tight.

"That bad, huh?"

"A broken arm, a broken leg, a crushed side, punctured lung, a skull fracture, a dislocated hip, a pretty serious concussion, a skull fracture, lacerations, a neck injury, your face is all stitched up, and third degree burns on your back." He listed the injuries off with perfect ease save for his voice tightening with the last one, no doubt having memorized them all his time here at the hospital. He hadn't left. My still beating heart (bless the poor little sucker) warmed with love for him. It was strange how I could be nearly dead by him one second and then ready to give him a big bear hug the next.

"Jesus," I murmured, impressed that three weeks was all it took for me to wake up. My eyes started to flutter. The pain meds were trying to get me to shut off again. What my body needed now was rest., something Clark picked up on immediately and he let my hands gently back down on my stomach.

"You need sleep," he whispered. A weak smile of relief finally crawled onto his face.

I was all too willing to follow his artfully disguised order when my memories flushed back at me. There was one face that caused my body to go rigid. My last fighting chance against unconsciousness made my eyes snap open.

"Bruce," I sputtered, "Where's Bruce?" A flash of him hanging twenty feet above me in Clark's grip with blood spilling onto the rooftop made my insides squirm.

I expected Clark –if Bruce was even still alive- to reprimand me for thinking about him at a time like this. He'd tried so hard to keep Bruce out of my life by moving me back to Metropolis, I didn't expect his compliance. But he only nodded once and stood gently from my side.

"I'll call him."

The room started to fade. My eyes closed gently. A nurse slowly opened the door just as I slipped back into nothing. But before I could, I had to make sure something was clear. Through my sandpaper throat I spoke.

"I love you, Clark." Then, there was darkness again.

The next time I woke up the sunlight was gone. The room was caked in shadows save for Clark's little corner where he had a light shining down on a book. I wanted to stretch more than anything else in the world but I was practically a walking plaster doll. If I tried anything I would crack straight down the middle, I was sure of it. I stared at the wall for a while, not ready to talk to Clark and content to just be alive and awake. When I was asleep I felt so lost, so dizzy, like there was no surface anywhere to put my feet on. Here in the hospital room at least I had stable ground, the sheets beneath my fingertips, the stale smell of alcohol.

I nearly jumped a foot and a half when the window slid open. I put a twinge in my neck looking over so fast but my heart falling to the pit of my stomach hurt worse when I registered what I was looking at. The stoic, dark clad figure of the Batman dropped soundlessly in through the open glass. He landed in the corner of the room and his cape came around his impossibly wide shoulders. He nearly faded into the night walls.

I saw Clark stand from his position in the corner and the two shared a nod of understanding. I caught Clark's reassuring smile, weak and exhausted as it was, before he made his way out into the hall. Light from the hospital hallway spilled into the room just for a moment before he closed the door securely behind him. Bruce crossed the room and locked the door, then approached my bed and drew the privacy curtains around us. I said nothing and watched as he peeled his cowl off and then leaned over me.

A silver of moonlight cut through the curtains and illuminated us. I traced his strong jaw with my eyes and evaluated his condition. There was stitching across his head and his cheek was colored darkly with bruising, but other than that he looked more or less in one piece. His raven dark hair was mussed from his cowl and if I had enough strength to lift my arm I would have ran my fingers through it.

I didn't even get a chance to speak. Moments after he removed his cowl he leaned down and pressed his lips gingerly to mine. He was as gentle and soft as I remembered him being. His scent was familiar, his skin warm and smooth. His mouth tasted the same. A gloved hand cupped my cheek with featherlike pressure before he finally drew away. I closed my eyes and savored his taste, feeling shudders wrack through my busted body. Usually I would have had some sarcastic counter to that kind of greeting, but never with Bruce. He always made the words just melt right out of my mouth. But it didn't take me long to get to business.

"You stopped calling," I opened my eyes and tried to keep the tremble out of my voice.

His emotionless eyes softened just a hint, but other than that his face remained unchanging. His hand slipped from my cheek and trailed down my arm. He did not look guilty, or amused. He just looked like Bruce. That stone wall went up as hard as ever in front of me.

"Clark said you didn't remember anything before the incident."

"I remember parts." I wasn't angry. I had no real emotion to be. I'd witnessed the disintegration of our relationship as if it was a soap opera on daytime television. I had no memory of being actively involved and therefore nothing but a hollowness when I brought the subject up.

"We can talk about this later," he said smoothly. Full of that debonair, nonchalant crap he was infamous for. My heart ached and my fingers rested on the heavy amour over his forearm.

"You can't come swooping in here with a kiss like that and not explain to me when I remember moving on, Romeo." My breath had taken too much out of me. I coughed painfully while trying to maintain my tough expression. But it was fruitless, I couldn't cough hard enough without busting another rib. Bruce reached over and grabbed a cup on the extending tray. With gentleness most had never witnessed the Dark Knight displaying, he cradled the back of my head and raised it and gently pressed the cup to my lips. I drank begrudgingly and when I'd had my fill I thanked him under my breath.

He turned his head towards the slit in the curtains where the moonlight spiked through. His harsh profile looked magnificent in the light. I heard a sigh pass through his lips.

"I thought it was best for both of us if we moved on."

He glanced at me finally. He said nothing but I saw a muscle in his jaw jump. "I figured you could find someone who'd give you the attention you deserve. Someone who isn't fueled by revenge and tragedy and can focus the entirety of their being on you."

At the risk of going into another painful coughing fit, I refrained from scoffing at him.

"You think I'm the type of woman who wants that? A pansy-ass who kisses my feet when I come home and makes me chocolate cupcakes when I've had a bad day?"

I caught his reproachful look but didn't acknowledge it. I lowered my eyes, feeling suddenly much more like the kid that stumbled into his manor without a clue rather than the woman that was lying under him now. "I'd never ask more of you than you can give."

He lifted my chin suddenly until I was looking into his eyes. Dark, smoldering blue. I drowned in the color. His deep voice resonated in our tiny enclosed area and goose bumps rose on my arm.

"I know."

I raised an eyebrow, the stitches crinkled on my forehead. "You know?"

His thumb smoothed across the bottom of my chin. "I know that. Which is why I reevaluated my decision to push you away. I don't want to anymore. You're the first, bright thing in my life in a long time. And now, with this mess," he sighed gently and I felt his gaze trail down my battered body and the lines of IVs stretching from my flesh. It took him a while to find his words. "I won't lose you. Especially not at the hand of my demons."

I smiled sleepily. The medication destroyed any free will I had. The edges of the room started to blur. Bruce's face spun in my vision. He shifted from my bed, ready to leave me in peace. But I caught his arm with my uninjured one.

"Don't leave," I murmured.

He sat back down gently and took my frail hand in his dark, gloved one.

"I won't."


End file.
